Bonds of Blood
by atomicpen
Summary: A routine patrol along the Wounded Coast yields more than Sebastian ever feared it could. Oaths and bindings thought obsolete from a long forgotten past are brought to light once again. EDIT: Ch9 is FINALLY up!
1. Thunder

**Chapter One: Thunder**

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was almost quicker than he could follow, moving from enemy to enemy with her two blades slicing into them, as if it were a dance to her. In a sudden burst of smoke and haze, he lost her. He knew the trick she used to flank an enemy during an attack, but he was still just as susceptible to the miasma as her foes. A figure took shape in the smoke, barreling toward him. He nocked an arrow and kept his eyes on the approaching target. Though his eyesight was keen as her namesake, he didn't want to shoot an ally, mistaken through the smoke, and he lowered his bow a few inches, squinting at a familiar-looking face.

"Hawke…?" he ventured.

The figure lunged at him, blade in hand.

He couldn't get his bow up in time, couldn't switch to his long dagger in time. Before he could evade, a blur came from the side and dove into the lunging figure. Maebh Hawke gave him an incredulous look, once she regained her footing in the fading miasma.

"Watch yourself, Sebastian. You might get a scratch on that handsome face of yours," she added, a grin tweaking up her features.

Sebastian kept the frown at her flirting off his face. It wasn't that he didn't like or enjoy her attention, just that he felt duty-bound and torn about it. "She could have been you," he explained.

"What? How could you mistake any other mug for my gorgeous one?" Hawke teased with a wink, then was off to intercept another enemy.

Sebastian Vael paid more attention the rest of the fight. He loosed arrow after arrow with precision, only twice having to switch to his dagger to cut through an enemy that had come to close. He picked off the last few stragglers hanging on to life, trying to run—or crawl—to safety. Neither he nor Hawke had much tolerance for slavers or bandits, and these were both. He stretched his muscles and ran his thumb and forefinger along the string of his bow, ridding it of any dirt, and his thoughts drifted to Hawke again. They seemed to be doing that far too often as of late, but he couldn't stop them for all that he tried. Adraste forgive him, but she filled his dreams, too. Ever since he had caught that first glimpse of her, years ago, when he posted his missive seeking help to find his parents' killers. She had been with a few others at the time—Varric, Aveline, and her sister, he found out later—and had been laughing at some jape the dwarf had made. He had imagined her taking special interest in his posting as he felt her eyes on him as he left; at least, he liked to imagine it happened that way. In truth, she might have been more interested in the little scene he and the Grand Cleric had, more than anything else. But, she _had_ helped him, he reminisced, and he had told her he'd help her if she needed it, in thanks, but over time it became much more of a choice to do so, rather than an obligation for repayment.

Sebastian took his time rejoining his companions, meandering his way through their fallen enemies to pull salvageable arrows from their bodies. Hawke looted them for anything of worth—not one of her more redeemable qualities, he mused. The sandy-haired apostate, Anders, turned from tending Fenris's wounds to interrupt Hawke and look over her. The archer watched as a certain kind of tenderness came over Anders that he did not like. A grin split Maebh's blood-spattered face as he said something to her, too quiet for Sebastian to hear. Something mean and angry twisted deep in the archer's gut before he could curb it and remind himself that she was not his. That he held himself to a vow of chastity.

"_I'm talking one night, two people," Hawke said._

_Sebastian's adam's apple bobbed and his eyes flickered to either side, hoping and praying no one else in the Chantry had heard her. He fixed his gaze back on hers, her ice blue eyes boring into his. He stammered a bit before a reluctant admittance left his mouth._

"_Don't… don't think I'm not temped, Hawke," he heard himself saying. He watched her eyes light up and felt a stirring in his groin. He shifted uncomfortably. "But, I've taken vows of celibacy in becoming a brother in the Chantry."_

_Just as her face had lifted, then did it dull, crestfallen._

"_Oh," she said, "I see."_

His heart wrenched at the memory of the look on her face, the tone of her voice. The soft green glow of healing magic brought him back to the present, and he walked closer to Maebh. Evidently some of the blood had been hers.

"Are you all right?" he asked her. The apostate healing her gave him a sharp look, and Hawke gave him a lopsided grin, though it seemed to him a bit sad. All the looks she gave him since that conversation in the Chantry had a thinly veiled sadness behind them he couldn't ignore. It tore him up inside, but he refused to break his vows to the Chantry again, even if Elthina hadn't officially accept him back. They were personal vows now, to try and make up for the helplessness he felt when he learned he was the sole survivor of his family; he had to feel as if he were in control of some part of his life.

"I'm just fine, thanks to Anders here," she told him, Anders quietly echoing her. "Mostly because I pay attention, though." She gave him a wink.

Sebastian looked to one side. "Yes, well, thank you for that. She did look remarkably like you, masked by miasma."

Maebh made a face of pursed lips and a raised eyebrow at him. "Maybe you're just seeing me in the faces of all women, dear prince," she said, though her voice held an edge of steel to it.

"Enough," Fenris interrupted as he joined them, cleaning the blood from his blade. "We should move on. This probably isn't the only group out here today."

Hawke nodded, all business again. They regularly came to the Wounded Coast to flush out bandits and slavers. Ever since she had saved those children from slavers a few years back, Hawke insisted upon it. The party set out again, Maebh taking point, as was usual. Sebastian briefly entertained the notion of arguing with her to let him take point for a while, but decided after the incident earlier to let it lie for the moment. Instead, he fell back to speak theology with Fenris. The elf had surprised him—initially, Sebastian thought the lyrium-tattooed warrior was merely a shallow man, filled with unrelenting rage, but a few conversations had dismissed that impression entirely. Now, the archer found himself enjoying their talks so much as to seek him out for them when they were not together accompanying Hawke.

"Have you thought more of the Canticle of Trials, and the verse within I mentioned?" Sebastian asked.

Fenris glanced at him. "_Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide_," he quoted. "_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_." He paused. "I understand what you're trying to do, Sebastian, but I am not so certain I have as much faith as you."

The prince shrugged. "I am only trying to broaden your knowledge of the Chant. I have found that certain verses in times of need or weakness give me peace and strength."

Fenris was quiet a moment, then his face softened. "Thank you, Sebastian. I will… think on it more. But, there is something else I wish to speak to you of."

"Oh?"

"Hawke."

That took Sebastian by surprise, and he felt nervousness twist his gut. Did Fenris know? "What about her?" A quick glance forward assured him that both their subject of conversation and Anders were out of hearing range.

"Have you heard the rumours going on about her lately?"

The archer shrugged. "I don't give much stock or pay particular attention to the tales Varric weaves about her."

Fenris shook his head. "These aren't Varric's doing."

They rounded a sharp corner, pausing in speech to make sure no ambushes lay in wait for them, then picked up where they stopped.

"I'm not surprised others have started rumours about her, as well. She is getting quite a name for herself here, after all," Sebastian said as they continued beyond the choke point.

"You're not listening to me, Sebastian," Fenris growled, garnering a sharp look from the archer. "These rumours are not in any way pleasant."

Their steps drew closer, and talked in even more hushed tones.

"There is talk that she doesn't exactly free the slaves she saves, but rather keeps them for her own uses. That she's taken to demanding payment from those of the poor whom she helps, and takes them as slaves themselves when they cannot."

"But we all know none of that is true," Sebastian protested.

"Yes, we all do. I thought most of the people in this city knew, too, but now there is talk otherwise. And it gets worse." He stopped short as the two in front of them halted short.

"What're you two hens clucking about amongst yourselves?" Maebh asked, coming back to them. She shook her head before they could answer. "Doesn't really matter. We've got a couple bandits up ahead; they don't know we're here yet, so I'm hoping to get the drop on them and pick a few of them off before we crash their little get-together." She gave Sebastian a grin. "That's where you come in."

"You know I can get them all as easily as one-two-three," Anders interjected, but she declined his offer.

"Yes, but I want someone who can kill with one shot," she explained fiercely. "You can wound all of them at once, but I want as many of them dead before they know what to do."

Even if what Fenris had told him about the people in Kirkwall beginning to doubt Hawke was true, anyone who knew her personally in the slightest wouldn't be able to believe it of her. Not in the least, Sebastian thought as she told them what her plan was.

"I think you can see them from just over that outcropping there," she pointed as she spoke, "and I know they'll scatter like nugs once the first falls dead, but I have faith you can get more than that." She flashed him a toothy grin, and he couldn't help but give her a wolfish one of his own. Elthina may not believe death was the answer to anything, but death comes to everyone, and these despicables deserved to meet the Maker and his judgment for their decisions.

"My pleasure, Hawke."

Crouching low and surprisingly nimble for a man wearing partial armour, Sebastian made his way to a niche he spotted in the rocky outcropping Hawke indicated and peered at the clearing below. It _was_ a good vantage point, he conceded. She might have been a close-range fighter herself, but Hawke certainly lived up to her namesake more often than not. Silently, he drew his bow from his back and nocked an arrow, his fingers running up the shaft to the fletching like an old lover—fletching he had put on himself. Royalty he may be, but he believed that if you could do it yourself, you should. One of the many things his grandfather had taught him that had been reaffirmed and solidified by his time in the Chantry. He drew the ash arrow next to his cheek as he aimed at the furthest bandit. _Breathe out_, he thought.

The arrow buried itself in the man's throat, and he gurgled blood as he fell. The rest of the bandits scrambled from their seats, shouting and trying to find cover. He loosed two more arrows before any had found a safely hidden spot from his eyes, and they made homes within flesh. A fourth man went down with an arrow in his back—through a lung, Sebastian wagered—as the remaining bandits found sufficient cover. Then Hawke and Fenris poured in, her wielding twin blades of death and he a single blade the thing of nightmares—if he left any alive to have nightmares.

Anders flushed those remaining out from behind their rocks with fire raining from the sky, and the bandits ran out screaming onto steel and death. Out of the pot and into the fire, Sebastian mused. Movement caught the edge of his vision, and he turned to see one of the bandits scrambling in the opposite direction of his friends.

"Tsk," Sebastian said aloud to himself, "abandoning your companions are you?" He drew the fletching back along his cheekbone. The shaft sung through the air after he let out his breath, and felled the fleeing man just before he vanished behind a pair of rocks.

Again, as he rejoined Hawke and the others, Sebastian bent to pluck his arrows out of the corpses they had created. All three of his companions were gathered around the man that had tried to flee at the last minute, so he went to join their small circle, curious.

"Sebastian," Hawke said when he took a place beside her. "Maybe you can make sense of this." She handed him a torn and crumpled piece of parchment. He flattened it as best he could, then was startled to find ancient symbols and characters staring him full in the face. He stared at them a long while, silent; he didn't think he could have gotten a word out even if he wanted to, fear and anger tightened his throat so. He could feel them all watching him, expecting him to know at least something about it. He was a prince, after all. A prince _and_ a brother in the Chantry, surely he was the one best versed in all manner of languages and letters. But all he could see were the whorls and spirals and jagged characters of his ancestor's ancient script.

Abruptly, he lowered the paper and turned over the man who had carried it, so he could see his face. The others stepped back at his sudden movements and asked a small flurry of questions, none of which he heard. Sebastian started at the man as if burning his features into memory; the bandit had dark auburn hair not unlike his own, only shorter and tousled from the fighting. His skin was bronzed, and his chestnut eyes started up into nothing.

"Do you know him?" Hawke's voice cut through his haze like fire. Sebastian shook his head. He still couldn't take his eyes from the dead man. How had this man—how had _anyone_, for that matter—come across this writing? And why, in the name of the Maker, did he carry it?

Hawke's voice came to him again, and he felt her hand on his. At her touch, he dragged his eyes from the corpse to her.

"Sebastian," Maebh Hawke said for the second time as her friend suddenly turned his glare to her. "Are you all right?"

"Perhaps we should leave this place," Fenris said. Slowly, he and Anders registered to Sebastian's mind again, and his sense of perception widened beyond the dead man. Beyond the letters.

"I'm fine," he finally said, angry at himself more than anything. This parchment could simply represent a breach in his family's vaults… or it could mean something far more terrifying. He could not imagine it being the latter, however. That was from long ago, and had no possibility of happening again. Could it? Worry and little bit of fear etched Hawke's features. He had rarely seen fear on her face, and it made the selfsame emotion grip his stomach all the tighter. Could she read the letters after all? Did she know what they meant—

"No, you're not," Maebh said softly, still holding his hand. She inclined her head to it, and he was startled to see he clutched the parchment so tightly it had crumpled worse than before. He looked at the other two, and even Anders seemed worried. As he relaxed his hand, Maebh went to take the paper from him, but he pulled back, shaking his head.

"I'd like to hang on to this," he said. "I think… I think I can make sense of it, given time." It wasn't completely a lie. He _could_ make sense of it, because he already knew what it said. They didn't need to know that right now, though; he had to figure out what their presence meant first before he revealed anything.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Sebastian in suspicion. "Are you sure you want to keep such a thing?"

He nodded, choosing to not elaborate on his reaction. "I am sure." Andraste give him strength. He would need it for this, if what he feared were true. Hopefully, it only held ramifications for a compromise concerning his family and their secrets, and nothing beyond that. If it did go beyond that, however…

Hawke finally let go of his hand, as though she had forgotten she held it. A light blush crept up her neck that would have secretly pleased Sebastian under normal circumstances, but a low rumble off the shore saved them both from any embarrassment. They looked out to sea at the blackening sky, and Maebh spoke first.

"Looks like a big storm is coming," she said, turning back to the trail and beckoning them to follow. "We should go before it catches up with us."

"Yes," Sebastian murmured as he tucked the now-folded parchment into a belt pouch, taking up rear guard—even lagging behind Fenris, who gave him another worried look. "A storm is coming."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: For those of you who have already read this, there are some changes done—grammar and spelling mostly in this chapter, but also a minor change near the end that will alter some future things in the next few chapters, at least for a little while. Make things a bit more believable and have a slightly slower progression, rather than escalating immediately. Sorry it took me so long to officially edit this chapter (and the subsequent ones that I will get to), but at least I did it, eh? Hopefully these and future changes will make the story flow a bit more smoothly.**

**Be that as it may, my computer finally bit the dust and is completely non-responsive, so I had to re-type all of this chapter (because that was before I realised I could just copy and paste things from the internet!), if there are typos that you find, **_**please**_** let me know where they are and I will fix them post-haste!**

**Thanks for reading (or re-reading, as the case may be)!**


	2. Heritage

**Chapter Two: Heritage**

A pounding on his door woke him up. He was surprised he had been sleeping; he hadn't been able to do much of it in days. Not since the Wounded Coast—not since the parchment they found. Bleary-eyed and covered in ink on his fingers and face where they had pressed into his makeshift pillow of a writing desk, Sebastian Vael opened his door. Fenris waited outside, arms crossed and looking displeased.

"Fenris, to what do I owe the company?" he said, tired, courteous.

The elf gave him a flat look and stalked into the room, uninvited but not unwelcome.

"Cut the act, Sebastian. You've been holed up in here for nearly a week without so much as a word to any of us. Not even Hawke. You've ignored our letters, ignored our visits, and avoided coming along with us anywhere." Fenris watched him close the door, planting himself angrily in the middle of the sparse room. "What have you been doing?"

Sebastian shrugged. He looked unruly, unlike any time Fenris had seen him, even after days of fighting. The shadow a beard covered his face and jaw, his shirt and breeches were both rumpled and looked slept in—something Sebastian himself decidedly did _not_ look. His hair was uncombed, and his hands were smeared with ink.

"It's nothing, Fenris. I've only been trying to make sense of that parchment we found." He motioned vaguely to the messy writing desk in the corner opposite the door, trying to be nonchalant. He had been writing letters and exhausting the contacts he still had between Kirkwall and Starkhaven about who had access to various parts of his family's castle and estate. But, there was only so much he could do without going to Starkhaven himself.

The elf surprised him by striding closer to grab him by the front of his shirt. "It is not '_nothing'_, Sebastian, do not lie to me. This parchment has consumed you. You have not slept—" Sebastian shot a glance to his pristinely made bed—"You have not eaten, you have not left the confines of this room, and we all need to know why," Fenris snapped at him. "I am _not_ leaving until you either agree to leave with me, or at the very least agree to have everyone come to you , so you can tell us what has been going on."

They stared at one another for a moment, a test of wills. In the end, Sebastian relented, sighing and shaking his head.

"All right. Let me get cleaned up and we'll meet at Hawke's estate."

Fenris nodded. "I'll gather everyone there." Before he walked out the door, he looked back at the archer. "If you don't show up, I will find you and _drag_ you out of wherever you're hiding."

Sebastian raised his hands in surrender. "I will be there within the hour, I swear."

Satisfied, the elf took his leave. It wasn't entirely true that he hadn't left his room in nearly a week—it had been sparingly, but he did leave a few times, mostly to deliver missives and letters personally; he didn't feel confident trusting someone to do it for him. Not with the murderer of his family still unknown. Sebastian looked around his room. It really was in disarray, however—papers were scattered over his desk, two inkbottles were on it, one of them uncorked; his armour lay in a vaguely neat pile at the foot of his bed, but his underclothing and boots were not neat at all. He went to his washbasin and looked in the small square of mirror hanging above it. A dark shadow of scruff dominated the lower plane of his face, and his hair was unruly. Dark circles ringed his eyes. Splashing cold water on his face brought him even more out of the haze the last few days had been, and he set about readying himself and collecting his thoughts. He stripped and put on a cleaner pair of breeches and socks, foregoing a shirt for the moment. Going back to the mirror and running a hand over his rough face, he decided it had to go. He looked like a ruffian and a rogue with it. Promptly and deftly, he shaved the bristle from his skin, nicking himself once beneath the left corner of his jaw. He pursed his lips at that, but pushed a small square of scrap parchment against it to stop the blood from running down his neck. He dunked his head in the water and brought it back up, raking his fingers through his hair to smooth it back. Checking the mirror again, he looked much more himself. He teased loose water droplets from his hair, then smoothed it back down again as he walked over to pick out a clean tunic and jerkin, puling both over his head one at a time. Boots on his feet, greaves over them, then came the rest of his armour, belt, and gauntlets. He slung his leather quiver and bow on his back, not realising just how much he missed the weight and feel of everything this past week until he had it all on again. He cast a small smile to his writing desk, walking to it to put the old parchment that had started everything into a belt pouch. He was no more suited to a life devoted to the scholarly arts than his grandfather had been. The thought of his grandfather had him thinking about the lost bow… he vowed to find it one day, and make sure he lived up to its legacy. He hoped that was the only family legacy he had to live up to.

Running one last hand through his hair absently, he left his dormitory in the bowels of the Chantry for the first time in five days to meet his companions at Maebh's estate.

* * *

><p>They were all waiting for him by the time he arrived, chatting amongst themselves. Merrill and Anders seemed to be having a mild argument over something magic-related, Varric was playing cards with a grinning Isabella—the latter of whom seemed to be winning—Aveline stood watching the two rogues play, and Fenris stood off to one side discussing something quiet and serious with Maebh Hawke. Probably him, Sebastian though grimly. Merrill caught sight of him first.<p>

"Oh, there you are Sebastian!" she chimed, a smile on her delicate, tattooed features. The others all stopped their conversations—and game, in the case of Varric and Isabella—to look at him. His gaze swept from one to the next, seeing their expressions, their reactions, ending on Hawke. Of all, she seemed the most concerned, followed closely by the usually difficult-to-read Fenris.

Isabella drew her feet from their propped-up spot on the table to the floor, pushing out a chair from the table with a boot. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Have a seat, _Sebby_," she said, "and join us."

He drew himself up, subtly squaring his shoulders. "I prefer to stand, thank you." He chose to ignore her derisive tone and diminutive.

Hawke stepped forward to him, hands crossed and holding the opposite elbow beneath her chest.

"Sebastian," she began, but he held up a hand.

"I have no excuse for my lack of appearance this past week," he said, "nor do I plan to create one. I should have been more upfront with all of you." He drew in a breath. "I told Hawke I was going to try and make sense of the parchment found on one of the bandits when we were last on the Wounded Coast. I take it you've filled them in on that?" He looked to Maebh for confirmation, then continued at her nod. "Well… that wasn't the entire truth."

Isabella gave a loud mock gasp. "A sworn brother of the Chantry lying? Tell me it isn't so!"

Hawke shot her a stern look, as did Aveline. "Let him finish," the former said. The other woman fell quiet.

"It wasn't a true lie," Sebastian went on. "I _was_ trying to make sense as to why it even existed, let alone why a bandit carried it. But…" He paused, shamed of his minor deception. "I do know what it means."

"Out with it, then, princeling," Varric urged, though his request held none of the malice Isabella's had.

The heir to the Starkhaven throne hesitated a moment, then drew the parchment from his pouch. He handed it to Varric, who sat closest to where he stood. The dwarf looked it over, then passed it along.

"This is a text—an original text—from the vaults my family has kept secret and hidden for generations. I do not know why anyone would want this text, let alone why a _bandit_ would be carrying it, but I do know a breach such as this does not have any good ramifications." He spread his hands. "This means that either confidence has been broken with someone who was once considered trustworthy and who was also privy to their locations, or..."

"Or someone like that was forced to give up that information." Varric finished for him. Sebastian nodded.

"Aye. I would prefer the latter to the former, as I would like to believe the few my family trusted implicitly would still hold true to the information shared with them, much as I would hate anyone to go through torture of any kind."

"But what's so bad about this text getting out?" Anders asked as he held the parchment in his hands, squinting at it. "Can anyone outside your family even read this nonsense?"

"Anyone with patience and intelligence can be taught another language, Anders. Even a dead one," was the irritated reply. "It's important to my family because of my ancestors' connection to what it talks about—a legend that has been passed down through generations of an ancient horror that existed near Starkhaven." He motioned to the parchment, brow furrowed mildly. "It is part of a larger work. Why someone would choose that particular passage and not the whole thing is a mystery to me."

"Well, out with it," Hawke told him. He looked up at her, confused. "You can't just keep telling us what it's about without reading the bloody thing to us."

"Yes, yes!" Merrill exclaimed. "Please read it to us, I'd love to hear what it has to say!"

Letting out a soft breath, Sebastian relented. "Very well. I suppose it won't hurt to tell you what it says." He closed his eyes, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the old tongue rolled out of him as if he had been born speaking it. In fact, his grandfather had been the one who taught him, the one who told him of his family's hidden heritage.

"_Daeonan m'barre eo barr m'treánne,_" he began, mildly self-conscious of himself. These words he knew held no actual power, but their history was like a weight pressing down on him, and he never thought he would be sharing them with the likes of a group such as this one. As he went on, his voice strengthened and steadied—

"_Craitheran eo thana t-seoghart ebas sié dunnbarreán_

_nisieen t-seán eo mith t-scrael im biroth_

_ebas sié craeg, ebas sié thanad._

_Thea moiré eo thea acrila té maera_

_choubhen cressae té rhaera_

_mhaevan acrila llobh sié mobhad_

_eo haevana sroth, haevana sroth_

_choubhen thea rhoveán_

_choubhen virtoh thea ora murreánne._"

As he finished, he opened his eyes, looking directly at Hawke. Her lips were barely parted, unconsciously, and a light blush had risen in her cheekbones.

"Very pretty," Merrill murmured.

"But what does it _mean_?" Anders cut in.

Sebastian broke eye contact with Maebh to look at the others. "It roughly translates to:

Skin of bone and bone of stone

mountain and man tremble at my walk

trees scream and winds cry in pain

at my sounds, at my hands.

I die and I live the same

always beyond the turning

red life starts my spark

and continues on, continues on

always I hunger

always must I be fed."

"Oh," Merrill said. "That's not quite as pretty." Hawke chuckled.

"A poem?" Fenris asked, furrowing his brows.

"A riddle," Sebastian corrected. "In ancient times, my ancestors had a fondness for them."

"What harm can a riddle do?" Aveline wanted to know, one eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," Sebastian replied. "But the implication of its resurgence could be devastating." The quietness of his voice made a few of them shift nervously; those who knew him well enough to read how unsettled he really was grew the same themselves.

"What is the answer to the riddle?" Varric mused, mostly to himself.

Sebastian was shook his head. "As I implied, the answer itself isn't really important, though it has been solved in any case, long ago. Finding out why it is here is much more pressing. This means whomever found their way into the secret vaults of my family, they knew what they were looking for. Even those trusted with the knowledge of their locations and contents wouldn't exactly know the true worth of what was secreted away." He took the parchment from Hawke, who was the last of the group to look at it, and took a moment to run his eyes over the ancient words again. "This is a very odd choice of something to take, of all the things my family has kept over the centuries," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"What do you propose we do? This is just a riddle, after all." She gave a hopeful shrug. "Perhaps our bandit friend was just a fan of old riddles and poems?"

"Would that it were so, Hawke, but I fear it's not so simple," Sebastian replied, lifting his eyes from the text. "Unfortunately—well, rather fortunately up until now—as far as I was aware, only a very select few outside my family had even remote access to these _craennerta_, these riddles."

"Who are now all dead, thanks to the Flint Company," Varric said. Sebastian nodded, unawares of the momentary flash of grief across his face.

"So who would be able to gain access to them now?" Aveline asked.

"Maybe whomever hired those mercenaries to kill your family…?" the dwarf suggested. Sebastian shook his head.

"I don't know. I don't know why anyone would _want_ to take something from our legacy. That is what I intend to find out." He shook his head. "I doubt the bandits we killed were the ones who took it. Perhaps they were working for someone here, which might explain their presence so far from Starkhaven."

His words piqued Hawke's interest, and she raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head to the side quizzically. "Legacy? The legacy of keeping frightening old riddles… or the legacy of something more?"

Red crept up Sebastian's neck as she pointed out his spoken misstep. He hadn't meant to let his family's secret heritage slip. He looked at the people in the room—some of them were turning out to be staunch friends, closer friends… but some of them he didn't feel like he could trust as far as—well, he probably could throw them, but he didn't trust them. With his parents, brothers and their most trusted advisors gone, and without knowing who was behind the murders, he couldn't know who in Starkhaven he could trust. Who in Kirkwall who was associated with his family or any other Starkhaven noble he could trust. None of them here were, as far as he knew, but, did he really want to explain everything in front of all of them? Andraste help him, did he have a choice at this point?

"Ah… the legacy of something more," he finally answered, not taking his eyes from Maebh's. "One of my ancestors probably wrote this riddle, when Starkhaven was a mere holdfast in the untamed wilds. The Vaels were one of the clans that built the holdfast and made it safe for other clans and families to live there." He heard his grandfather's deep voice telling him this story as a young child. "One day, another clan stumbled upon a massive stone structure. They cleaned it off, painstakingly, as it's said to be nearly the height of ten men standing on each other's shoulders. It was made of material harder than stone, but runes were carved all over it. After many years, someone translated the runes." He held up a hand. "No, before anyone asks, I don't know what they said." Sebastian drew in a breath, wet his lips with his tongue.

"So, is that answer to your riddle?" Aveline asked. The prince nodded.

"The riddles aren't true riddles as we know them today—in ancient times, their riddles were to describe something in a roundabout manner to see if someone could figure out what the subject was. It was a good way to keep the mind sharp, to pass the time."

"What about the runes?" Hawke asked.

"It turned out the runes were an incantation. When invoked, coupled with blood sacrifices, they awaken the creature. The people—" Here he stumbled a little. "The people who awoke the colossus tried to overtake the holdfast and the lands surrounding it with the creature. They soon discovered to keep it even somewhat satisfied, there had to be several blood sacrifices a day."

Merrill spoke up. "A demon in a stone body? I thought they only possessed the living?"

The archer shrugged. "I'm the first to admit I know little to nothing of magic—especially blood magic.' He ignored Anders' soft snort of amusement. "Perhaps it is a different aspect of blood magic thankfully lost to the ages. I could not say. All I know is that, at first, the colossus did the bidding of those who awakened it. But, as they kept feeding it more and more blood, it was able to break free of their control and go on its own rampage." His voice dropped and quieted. "It ate all those of the family who awoke it. It ate all those who tried to stop it, and it ate all those in its path. It even began to draw lifepower from animals and the trees themselves."

Isabella wrinkled her nose. "It _ate_ them?"

"Yes, ate them. It lived off the blood and death of everything around it."

"There's only one of these things," Hawke said, a knuckle raised to her mouth, teeth scraping along it thoughtfully. Sebastian looked back at her. "Right?"

He nodded. "There's only one of them. That my family accounted for, at least. But it's only a legend, a myth, that my family has passed down. Even if it is true, the last record of one was centuries ago."

"Indeed," she said thoughtfully as Anders spoke up.

"This is the part I am very interested to hear," he said. "Just how, exactly, is your family involved in this?" Though just a question, accusation lay apparent in the apostate's eyes.

"Not in the way you're thinking, Anders," Sebastian said more angrily than he really meant. He was exhausted from lack of sleep, the toll of telling so much at one time, and Anders almost always got under his skin on a good day. He did not have to patience to calmly deal with any snarky comments. "Ever since the first awakening, the Vaels have stepped in to stop the colossus. For whatever reason, my family was the only one that succeeded in stopping it." He shrugged. "No fancy tricks—just managed to immobilise it, paralyse it, and shackle it down until it ran out of power. Essentially, it starved to death, with no more blood to fuel it." He shook his head. "Unfortunately, the _craannerta_ do not go into explicit detail about the techniques the ancient Vaels went about using against it, leaving subsequent generations only a poetic generalisation of the battles."

"How long did it take to be killed?" Merrill asked.

He gave her an almost flat look. "If the stories tell true, far too long. It sucked the life out of the very earth around it before it ran out of power to sustain it."

"Paralysed it?" Anders repeated. "So your family used magic? And there I thought you disliked that sort of thing, Sebastian."

"No, I don't dislike _magic_, Anders. Only you," Sebastian replied, weary. "I think all people had more magic in them in general when our world was younger, and we closer to the Maker."

The apostate glared at him, but the archer ignored the look. That man always seemed to be trying to provoke him into a fight. Instead, he turned his eyes back to Hawke. It was her reaction and thoughts that concerned him the most—she was more or less the leader of their motley group, and of all of them, he respected and cared for her the most. Perhaps too much of the latter, he chastised himself. Andraste forgive him, but she was the only person to ever creep under his skin to stay so deftly.

"There's something…" she started. "You said the 'first time'. Has this thing been awakened more than once, then?"

He nodded. "Again, if the legends are to be believed, yes."

"How many times?"

"Five, by my family's last reckoning."

"Each time started and ended the same?"

"Save a few minor variations here and there, yes. Very much the same." Sebastian rubbed half his face with a hand. "As I said, the last time was centuries ago, at least, if the records are, indeed, factual. I do not think the colossus is something we need to be overly concerned about. It is the breach into my family's hidden vaults that troubles me most."

Varric stretched loudly. "Well, that is quite enough intrigue for one night," he stated. "I think a few drinks and a soft bed are in order." Isabella nodded her agreement, and they, Aveline, Merrill, and Fenris took their leave after a few parting words with Hawke.

Fenris pulled Sebastian aside as they were walking to the front door. "We still need to finish our discussion from the Wounded Coast," the elf told him in a low voice. He cast a look to Hawke, who was talking with Merrill as she walked the elf to the door. "But here is not the time, nor the place."

Sebastian nodded. "I will find you out on the morrow, then."

The look Fenris gave the archer as he went out the door told him the warrior would be holding Sebastian to that promise, especially after the past week. With the others gone, Sebastian was left alone with Anders and Hawke. Ignoring the apostate's stare against his back, he strode to Hawke.

"May I have a word?" he asked, then, sparing a glance to Anders, added, "Privately?"

She nodded. "Of course. Anders?" She peered around Sebastian's shoulder at the mage. "Why don't you wait upstairs? I'll join you in a bit."

The archer felt his heart clench and his gut twist as Anders grumbled an agreeing sort of noise and went up the stairs, vanishing once beyond the banister. Sebastian didn't need to look to know he was going into Hawke's room. For a moment, the same tightness that had gripped his throat when he first saw the colossus' riddle did so again, and his mouth went completely dry. Hawke turned back to him from watching Anders go up the stairs, a smile perched on her lips. He wondered if those smiles had ever been for him, could ever have been for him.

"Now," she said. "What do you want to talk about?"

A thousand things ran through his head; he had wanted to talk with her more privately about what the presence of _craennerta_ meant, about ways to go about gathering more information without travelling all the way to Starkhaven—but all he heard himself blurting out was,

"_Anders_?"

She shrugged. "He's a nice enough man," she said, then dropped her voice in case the mage in question happened to be eavesdropping. "He wasn't my first choice, but even the Champion of Kirkwall gets lonely at night." Her smile went from a mused to sad as her eyes lowered and got a bit distant. After a moment, she focused her gaze back on him, noticing the colour in his cheekbones and neck. "Why, Sebastian!" she exclaimed. "Are you blushing?" Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial level. "Is it because he and I aren't married?"

In truth, Sebastian wasn't embarrassed at all—it was anger that made colour rise on his flesh. Anger at Anders, at her, but mostly anger at himself and his decision to continue his vow to the Chantry. Had he met her a few years earlier than he had, he would have taken her for his own and never let her go. But now… Now she had _settled_ for that apostate out of loneliness. If only she had come to him, if only she had told him… Who was he kidding? What would he have done? Forsaken his vows to the Chantry for her? He felt his ears burn as something inside him answered "Yes" to that question. He pushed it back.

"No…" he said carefully, "that doesn't bother me. It just… I was caught off-guard by it." She had said the apostate wasn't her first choice. "Who was—" He stopped himself short and shook his head, the realisation cutting him like a blade. He hadn't chosen to listen to that voice, to forsake his vows for her. She _had _come to him, and he had taken it for granted. There were things he was thinking more of, then, and he was arrogant enough to hope she would wait until he asked her the same in return. But she hadn't. He hadn't. "Never mind."

"No, who was what?" Maebh pushed.

He looked her in the eyes. "It's nothing. A silly question."

She looked as if she didn't believe him, but let the matter drop. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts casually, leaning her weight on one leg more than the other.

"Well, what did you want to talk about?" she asked. "Surely not just Anders?"

He floundered, feeling heat rise in his skin again, but managed to quell it before she noticed. He let his breathing drift into that of an archer's just before he lets loose the arrow. It did nothing to help his tongue, however.

"It's not—I don't… It can wait for less late of an hour. Forgive me for imposing your household for so long," he got out, gave a quick sharp nod of his head, then turned and nearly bolted out of the door toward his room in the Chantry. He berated himself the entire way there; now she'd think the news of her and Anders together had flustered him. Regardless of the fact that it well and truly did, he didn't want her thinking it. Now, at least, much of the hostile looks and comments Anders gave him made more sense. Through his irritation and personal distractions, Sebastian hadn't consciously noticed that Anders was falling for her over all these years… but the apostate was more than likely fully aware of Sebastian's attraction to Maebh. He really was out of practice, the prince conceded, which was his parents' hope and intent when they shuffled him off to the Chantry after his grandfather's death. He dared a glanced over his shoulder at the Hawke Estate to make sure she wasn't coming after him due to his abrupt departure. She wasn't. Movement made his eye sweep up to the second-story window, however, and saw her standing in front of it, watching him go. He cursed himself, forgetting to bite his tongue before it got out, and set his feet to walking faster. It tore at his heart to see her watching him go like some forlorn lover—mostly because it was too close to the truth.

With that guilt and the new-found jealous anger toward Anders piled on top of all his other worries, Sebastian foresaw very little sleep and much prayer in his night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Editing and re-writing! There are major, major changes done to this chapter to pace things more and hopefully smooth things out a bit in regards to making sense and downplaying Sebastian's reactions and all that—because let's be honest, I definitely had him overreacting to all this stuff. I feel this is a slightly more realistic reaction he would have to coming across such a thing from his family that just jumping a different conclusion. **

**For anyone who's a big a linguistic geek as I, here's a pronunciation guide for the syllables in the **_**craennerta**_**:**

**si="sh"; bh, mh="v"; ll="y"; ch=soft "ch", as in the German "ich"; gh=silent; ae, é=long "a", as in "lay"; i="ee"; á="ah"; e="eh"**

**Think Gaelic, if that's any help. If it's not, don't think of it. I sort of imagine Sebastian's heritage being a fantasy medley of Welsh and Scottish, so that's what I fashioned the language after.**


	3. Clandestine

**Chapter Three: Clandestine**

It was late afternoon by the time Sebastian knocked on the wide door of the mansion Fenris was staying in. He waited a moment for an answer, then let himself in when he received none. The place was in as much disarray as ever, and Sebastian had to step over and around debris and clutter not a few times as he made his way to the study he knew Fenris frequented. As he neared the room, he called out to the elf.

"Fenris?"

"In here," came the answer from the study as the archer had predicted. He found Fenris sitting at a relatively cleared and clean table, a fire going in the hearth.

"You're looking well," Sebastian greeted his friend.

"You're looking as if you haven't slept in days still." The warrior was not so diplomatic in his words. Even so, Sebastian resisted the minor urge to flinch; Fenris never had qualms speaking his mind bluntly. Instead, Sebastian offered a wan smile.

"Small surprise," he replied.

"Yes, you have had a lot on your mind. And I'm afraid I'm about to add onto it."

Sebastian waved his hand. "Out with it. There's no use in waiting."

Fenris motioned for the archer to take a seat, then spoke once they had both leaned back into their chairs.

"Remember what I was telling you on the Wounded Coast?"

"Of course: someone spreading rumours and trying to sully Hawke's name." He shook his head. "Though, as I said then, anyone who knows Hawke is the slightest wouldn't believe any of that."

"I agree. Except it's not just rumours."

Sebastian stared at him a moment. "What you are implying—" he began warningly, but Fenris cut him off.

"I'm not implying anything, Sebastian. Cool your choler. There _is_ someone impersonating Hawke. Someone who _is_ doing all these things."

The archer chastised himself. It was a mark of sleepless nights and worry, of his care for Maebh, that he had jumped to the wild conclusion of Fenris saying Maebh was behind all those things. Of course someone was impersonating her.

"My apologies, Fenris." Sebastian put his fingers to a temple. "I did not mean to offend you. I fear I have not been working at full strength lately."

Fenris nodded. "I understand."

"How long has this impersonator been going around as Hawke?" the archer asked, turning back to the matter at hand.

"It's hard to tell. Not long enough to hear it before this, but long enough for these rumours to have spread to most of the city." Fenris shrugged. "I can't be more specific than that, unfortunately. Perhaps she is not from here."

"I'm guessing that since you're speaking to me privately about this, you don't think Hawke should be told?" Fenris shook his head.

"No."

"Why come to me about it? Why not talk to Aveline? Which raises another good question—why _don't_ Aveline and the guard know about this already? It's not like Hawke isn't noticeable, as I imagine her impostor would be," he added.

Fenris gave him a shadow of a knowing smile. "Because I know you will be discreet if need be, and I know you care for her. Greatly. Aveline cares for her no less, but the woman is not exactly subtle."

So, he knew. Sebastian decided not to comment on that. "But why the need for discretion? Why not tell Hawke outright so she can deal with it?"

"Can you imagine her reaction? She'd tear this city apart looking for whomever it really is. That," Fenris added, "and I'm sure that's the reaction that this impostor wants. Why else impersonate the most famous person in Kirkwall? There's something much more to this, I can tell. Something much more sinister than a few bad rumours and an impersonation."

"You and I are the only ones who know right now?" The elf nodded. "We need to find out more information. What about telling Varric? He has a lot of contacts—"

"And is well known for that. No," Fenris said. "As much as his contacts might help, that's also very predictable. I don't think we should tell anyone else. The less people know, the less likely anything will leak to the wrong ears, the less this impostor will know."

"Go at them sideways when they're not expecting it?" Sebastian offered.

"Exactly." Fenris smiled slightly. "This is another reason why I told you."

Over the next hour or so, the two men shared a small meal and laid out loose plans. To their benefit, though he had left that life behind, Sebastian _could_ act the part of the rogue to garner information from the Undercity; he didn't relish the thought, but… He admitted to himself he would do practically anything for Hawke. Even dredge up abilities from his own questionable past. Fenris would prowl the streets of Lowtown and Hightown—though recognisable, he could simultaneously find out more while leading any who were on to them in the wrong direction, as Sebastian would be the real gatherer of information.

"At least there's only a Hawke impersonator," Fenris said.

"Oh?"

"I can't imagine anyone trying to be you, but evil." That gained a laugh from the dark-haired man, who flashed a grin after.

"You didn't know me a decade ago," he told the elf in amusement.

Sebastian helped clean up after their dinner before he took his leave for duties back at the Chantry. As he left, Fenris confronted him on one last issue.

"Why do you still wish to renew your vows to the Chantry? Didn't you forsake them when you left to avenge your family's murders?"

The prince shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, I—I did do that. But… despite disliking being forced into the Chantry at first, I have grown to love it, and find that it fills an empty place within me. I feel something much closer to whole in my heart and soul when I pray to or sing of Andraste, when I read of the Maker. I do not want to lose that from my life now that I've found it."

"And what of Hawke?"

Sebastian could not keep the jolt of emotion from showing on his face. "What does Hawke have to do with my vow to the Chantry? I met her through happenstance." His answer felt too hasty. Too much like covering his tracks.

"Don't play the innocent fool with me, Sebastian. You know as well as I that she has everything to do concerning your vow to the Chantry," Fenris snapped, impatient with him. He folded his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. "What of Hawke?" he asked again.

Sebastian could not meet his friend's eyes. "Anders. She has him now. As I said, Hawke has no bearing on my vow to the Chantry." Andraste's faith, if Fenris knew, how many of the others could tell? Was he that transparent?

"I don't trust Anders with her," Fenris said suddenly.

"Neither do I," agreed the archer. "I think..." He took a breath; this was difficult to say, to admit. "I think despite all our apprehensions about him, he does care for her. But, I don't think for a moment that he'd put her above any of his own intentions."

Fenris gave him a locking gaze. "Watch out for her," he said. "I think she cares for you more than any of us, so if worse comes to worse, she might listen to you. But watch over her."

Sebastian gave him a wan smile in return. "No need to tell me to do so, my friend. I already am."

They clasped forearms in farewell, and Sebastian went on his way through Hightown. There was much to do, and, he feared, less and less time in which to do it.

* * *

><p>He did not shave his face that day, nor the next, in order to get a rough shadow to cover his jaw. By the second evening, it had started to itch him like mad, but he kept it. Though it had been many years since he had sported the scruff regularly, he remembered well how it made him look. He nimbly avoided answering any of the lay sisters or mothers who questioned him about it, and he felt more than a little bit of the man he had once been before his life began anew at the Chantry. Before his life with Meabh Hawke in it. He was torn between wanting to do this for her and wanting to hunt down anything and everything about the appearance of the <em>craennerta<em>; his gut told him to follow the riddle to whatever its source may be, but his heart pulled him ever to Hawke. _You never know_, he told himself,_ perhaps I will find out more of my own answers while hunting this impersonator._ Sebastian grimaced. That was a long shot, considering the bandit who had carried it hadn't been in the city at all, and it was impossible to tell where or from whom he had obtained it.

Regardless of whether he'd find information on his riddle or not, Sebastian donned a stitched-together leather jerkin with iron studs, black breeches, and tall boots. He pulled a dark mantle over his shoulders, pulling the hood of it up to shadow the top half of his face. He looked in his piece of the mirror as he pulled on long gauntlets. He looked the unaffiliated, unremarkable mercenary. Turning from his reflection, he put on two belts attached to one another by an unadorned bronze buckle in the front. Scabbard hanging at his right side from a complex frog, he slid the borrowed long sword into it. It felt odd to have the weight of a sword on his hip rather than the familiar bow and quiver on his back; he was light and awkward at the same time. Finally, he hooked two of his pouches to the belts he wore, carrying a few vials of liquid to supplement his health or stamina if he ran into a bad fight. He didn't anticipate anything, but it was Darktown, and there were plenty of bandits and thugs roaming the streets of the city.

Satisfied, he waited until the sun had dipped entirely below the tips of the buildings and horizon to slip out of the Chantry. He could have gotten out with no one seeing him even if he hadn't known the layout of the halls. He frowned somewhat. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to create some sort of a guard patrol. Times were uneasy, and he would hate to see anything happen to the gentle inhabitants of the Chantry. He couldn't do anything about that now, so he slipped outside and walked as if he had nowhere to go.

It was easy enough for a run of the mill mercenary to go into Darktown without notice or preamble, but once down there, he had to find someone affiliated with his first target group. The Coterie was one of the largest underworld organisations, and they would almost certainly know about any sort of goings on that happened on the underside of Kirkwall. He drew out a small, hand drawn map of the Undercity Hawke had made years ago and wound his way through the streets, looking fierce. No one troubled him until he came to a known meeting spot of Coterie members.

A brash young woman with short hair called out to him. "Hey! Good-lookin' with the hood and sword—yeah, you! C'mere," she beckoned. He went over, feigning indifference. She might have been pretty, save the two long scars that ran across her face, etching their way unpleasantly across her nose.

"You look like a—" She looked him up and down—"rough and tumble sort of man. Why don't you throw your sword in with the Coterie?" she asked.

He had certainly found the right place, at least. Being a bit of an outsider to Kirkwall, his accent was quite noticeable. He go more attention than the Fereldens at times because of it. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do to mask it, but he could certainly make it thicker and more rural.

"Och," he said, and saw her eyes light up at the sound of his burr. "I cannae say aye t' that, lassie. I'm afraid I'm already affiliated. But," he continued quickly, even as her face fell, "maybe you _can_ help me a wee bit." He motioned her closer. He knew full well the effect of thickening his brogue did to most women, and he had spent years turning it into an art form.

The Coterie woman sidled closer to him and very nearly purred, "Yes? Please, tell me _any way_ I can help you out…"

He flashed her a toothy grin. "Weel, I've seem tae have misplaced a… 'friend' of mine a few days back. An' I was wondering if I could enlist a wee bit of help in findin' where she might've got tae."

"Well, I'd be _more_ than happy to help you search for your lost… friend," the woman answered. "But, I can't do it for free…"

His mouth spread in a slow smile. "I dinnae think ye would, lassie. Rest assured I'll pay you well. Very well." He let the sentence hang in the air a moment. She sighed.

He described Hawke to the woman, and she laughed in his face.

"You just described the Champion of Kirkwall," she told him. He shook his head.

"Nay, this woman's said tae look like her, but is involved in some… unsavoury things."

The woman's face grew serious in a flash. "How do you know about _her_?" she snapped. He jerked back slightly, startled.

"I told you, I'm trying tae find her."

"No, really. _How_ do you know about her?"

He was at a loss for words; while he and Fenris had agreed the Coterie would probably have at least some idea of the Hawke impersonator, this woman's reaction was completely unexpected. He blinked at her a few times, quickly gathering his thoughts.

"Since you seem set on it… I've been sent by a laird who's tae remain nameless, who's interested tae see if the rumours are true or not." He shrugged, as if he were ignorant of the true reason. "Dinnae really give details, but I think he's wantin' tae join with her an' what she's been said tae do."

The Coterie narrowed her eyes as he told his story, and he prayed to Andraste that she would believe it. This lie was to help Hawke, he told himself. Tense moments passed as she watched his face, but to his relief, she finally nodded.

"It seems more and more people are wanting to do just that," she said. "We aren't affiliated with her ourselves, but we are aware of her dealings." She dropped her voice, leaned in close. "Tell you the truth, I've been thinking that if the Coterie don't throw in with her soon, I might just do it myself."

Sebastian's heart leapt into his throat as she leaned back. He had hit the nail on the head. Though, for this woman to want the Coterie to join up with an outside affiliate—_not_ the other way around—that unnerved him just a little.

"Do you know how tae find her, then?" he tentatively asked. Could it really be that easy?

The woman looked around. "No. Not… officially, anyway." She leaned closer to him again, voice dropping. "But I've heard where she can be found. Or at least more about her. I was going to check them out myself, soon, and I suppose the sooner the better. If you meet me by the southernmost entrance after full dark tomorrow night, you can come with me if you want," she whispered to him.

He couldn't have had better timing. He nodded. "Aye. I'll come with you." He could almost hear her heart flutter in her chest, her reaction to his agreement was so obvious.

"Good," she said. "Come alone."

"I will." He inclined his head o her, then continued on his way. Her eyes bore into his back as he went, he knew.

As he meandered his way to a different exit than his entrance, he kept his ears peeled for any snippets of conversation regarding the Champion of Kirkwall, or her look-alike. When something did catch his attention, he always managed to find some casual, unnoticeable reason to linger until the conversation turned to different subjects. By the time he left, the moon was well and high in the sky, and he had a myriad of information to piece together and tell Fenris.

After slipping back into his Chantry dormitory, Sebastian jotted everything he could remember down, as well as he could remember it. When finished, he stripped off the hooded mantle and stretched. He might get a decent rest for the first night in nearly a week, he mused, unhooking his belt and undoing various lacings of the borrowed armour.

As he debated shaving his face before readying himself for bed, his thoughts turned to the bandit from the Wounded Coast. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed that a Hawke impersonator would suddenly appear out of the woodwork right before he discovered bandits carrying ancient text from his family's vault. He wondered if they weren't connected somehow. What did an old _craennerta_ have to do with someone involved in slaves?

In the end, he decided to wash his face and not shave. The bowl he outside his door for the water to be changed in the morning. After, he shut his door for the night. It was nearing the first of summer, and the days were growing steadily hotter, as were the nights. Even in the middle of the night, the air in Sebastian's room was warmer than he would have liked, so he stripped all the way to his small clothes and debated opening the small slit of a window he had adorning the outer wall. He ended up doing so. A mildly cooler breeze drifted into the room, but it didn't do much to alleviate the overall temperature. Starkhaven was north of Kirkwall, and at a much higher elevation, so even after a decade living in the coastal city, he still couldn't get used to the heat of summer. Perhaps if he had a larger window and a room that wasn't at ground level… The wish only made him think of Hawke's estate, which, in turn, brought his thoughts to how she now shared it with Anders. He felt a growl come unbidden from his throat and checked it.

Sebastian did not need to dwell on _those_ kinds of thoughts any more than he already dared. What he needed was to sleep. Forgoing his nightly prayer, he crawled into his narrow bed and was out before he had time to settled the thin cover about himself.

* * *

><p><em>Burning, it was all burning. From Kirkwall to Starkhaven, to Tevinter and all the Free Marches. Beyond the Free Marches. Nothing was safe from the blaze. He tried to find her, tried to save her. He saw her, with a ring of green around her feet. Her hair was the colour of the flames encircling but never touching her. She wore a dress bluer than the ocean ever saw in its dreams and she held her hands out to him. He reached for her, watching the sleeves of his clothing disintegrate into ash. He felt his skin slowly begin to catch fire when she grabbed his hands. It was like a cool wave of water had washed over him, and he stepped inside her circle of green. They leaned forward to kiss and a blade tore through her chest and into his. She stared down at it, then slowly looked up at him, blood bubbling out of her mouth. The blade moved through him until he was skewered, too. He felt the bubbles of blood pushing into his lungs, up his throat—<em>

-and woke up coughing. His skin felt hot; the room itself was a mild temperature, but his flesh was burning to the touch. It was not the head of a fever, he knew immediately. His chest felt heavy, the dream vivid in his mind.

A quick glance to the small open window revealed it to be predawn, the tendrils of lightening grey reaching into his room before true first light. Sebastian swung his legs out of bed and planted bare feet on the cool stone floor. His breathing was ragged, and he closed his eyes to calm it. After a few moments, he stood and padded over to the door, opening it to find fresh water in his basin already. The little sisters were early today, fortunately for Sebastian. He brought the basin in and splashed cool water on his face. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn steam came off his skin, but he did feel cooler for it.

Glancing back to his narrow bed, the dream flared up in his memory again. He did not relish the thought of trying to find sleep again, and he was already well awake. It was before first vespers by perhaps a half an hour, so he decided to take the opportunity to hone his archery. He hadn't taken time for it since the Wounded Coast, and he would be loath to fall out of practice. He didn't don his entire ensemble of armour, but settled on leather riding breeches and a well-worn tunic instead. After pulling on his boots, Sebastian gathered his bow and quiver, then headed out to the gardens.

When he had first arrived at the Chantry against his will, one of the only things that would calm his fury would be to stand before a series of targets and loose arrow after arrow at them until his fingers were raw. The Grand Cleric had allowed him reign over the far corner of the gardens, where the wall jutted out to make a nook of sorts. There he had hung and erected targets of varying sizes and distances apart, all made by him. He stored them in a bin at the mouth of the nook, and this morning decided upon the smallest and most difficult to see and hit. _Start large_, his grandfather would tell him,_ then get small_. The smallest of his targets were only five inches in diameter, the centre of which a mere inch across. He set those five smallest ones up against a board on the far wall, then went a good distance away.

He strung his bow, gently plucking it after to test the tension, then drew an arrow out of his quiver. Everything but the bow and the targets faded from his vision, and he loosed the first one, letting out a breath. Four more followed in quick succession, and Sebastian could feel the tenseness from the dream leaving his muscles with every one that he loosed. If there was only one thing in the world the Maker had created Sebastian for, it was certainly archery. Three were in dead centre of the painted circles, and two had punctured the bull's-eye on the outside edge.

"Very good aim, indeed," came a woman's voice behind him. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Instead, he walked to the targets and began extracting arrows from them.

"Hawke," he said as greeting. "What brings you to the Chantry at such an early hour?"

"You wouldn't believe me," she told his back. He finished puling the last arrow out, and set the target down. As he put the arrows back into his quiver, he turned and walked to where he had stood before. She leaned beneath an orange tree, idly peeling the thick skin from one of the fruits.

"Try me," he said.

Hawke was not looking at him, so he seized the moment to study her, as he often did. She wore simple leathers and a soft, close-fitting tunic with buttons down the front. It was a man's shirt, through altered to fit her size and shape. It looked good on her. Maroon-dyed bracers laced nearly the entire length of her forearm, and he could see the faint tooling of a design on them, though he was unable to make out exactly what it was. Buckskin breeches hugged her strong legs, and leather boots matching her bracers ended just below her knees. Two pouches hung from her left hip, and he could see the twin hilts of her fighting daggers protruding over her shoulders. Her pale skin had been tanned by day after day spent out in the sun, though she never seemed to get very dark—in comparison to Isabella or Fenris, Hawke was still quite pale. It was all offset by the bright auburn of her hair. She had more red than not, but it was still a darker hue, despite the sunlight setting it ablaze now and again. In all his travels, he hadn't seen a colour quite like it, and it tended to drive him a little mad. That, and her eyes. They were still fixated on the orange, but he knew their colour all too well. Darker blue than his, like the bottomless depths of the sea, or when a storm darkened the sky just after sunset.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her silence. "What are you doing here?" he asked her again.

She took a bite of orange before answering him, finally. "Anders."

The archers brows went up. "Anders is here?"

"He's inside," she corrected him.

"Why in the name of the Maker is Anders inside the Chantry of his own free will?"

Hawke still didn't meet his eyes. "I… I don't know. He hasn't…" She took a breath. "He hasn't been acting himself lately."

"Justice…?"

Even from the distance they stood apart, Sebastian could see her hands shake. Hawke was one of the most steady people he knew, and it tore at him to see her like that; he wanted nothing more than to stride over to her and envelop her in his arms. When she finally lifted her eyes to him and he saw how red they were, how dark the circles beneath them were, he could not stop his feet from taking him to her. He encircled her hands with his, felt how cold her fingers were, and held on to them tightly. He willed heat into them from his own hands.

"Hawke," he said quietly, "You don't have to say anything else. This place will always be open to you for sanctuary. Especially as long as I am here," he told her. She looked up at him. Her eyes were not wet, but he could tell she had been crying at some point. She did nothing to remover her hands from his. "I will always be here for you."

"Are… are you planning on going somewhere?" she whispered. "You say as long as you'll be here, but that implies you mean to leave."

Her observation caught him off guard. She always seemed to pick up on the hidden things. A blessing and a curse, he thought.

"Well, I," he began. "I've recently been thinking a lot more about Starkhaven. I have a duty there, plus the sudden appearance of the _craennerta_…" He let out a breath. "I _must_ find out who hired those mercenaries to murder my family. After that, I can figure out what best to do about Starkhaven."

Her brows went up, and a little light came back into her face. "What to do about it? Sebastian, you are the _heir_ to Starkhaven. You can't really abandon it, can you?"

This was not a topic he had expected to get into, though it had been weighing heavily on his mind.

"I don't know, Hawke. I feel as though I'm needed at the Chantry, and, well, I _have_ spent the last decade here." He gave her a wry half-smile. "I'm not sure the people of Starkhaven even remember what I look like."

She smiled along with him, but there wasn't much true amusement in her expression. "I would be quite sad to see you go, but you shouldn't turn your back on your people."

Sebastian frowned slightly. "Hawke, I haven't made any decisions yet. Don't assume anything. There is still much to do before the need to choose arises." _And I have people here, too_, he added silently.

"Well, isn't _this_ quaint?" Anders' voice cut through the gardens, halting their quiet conversation. When they both looked at him, Sebastian saw the apostate's eyes flash down to their hands—his still over hers and the orange—then back up to them, narrowed. "Don't let me _interrupt_ you two." The way he said it sounded almost a profanity.

The archer straightened, withdrawing his hands from around Hawke's.

"What is your business here?" he asked.

"This is where they said Hawke had come, so I came to fetch her."

"I mean the Chantry," Sebastian cut in at the same time Hawke snapped, "I will _not_ be fetched." It was good to hear the anger flash in her voice, Sebastian decided, though the look on Anders' face told him the mage didn't agree. Sebastian did not like the side of Hawke he saw earlier.

He watched Anders look from him to Hawke and back again, deciding which to address first.

"Why I was in the Chantry," he finally answered to Sebastian, "is a matter of private recourse, and I don't answer to you."

"Who do you answer to, then?" Sebastian heard himself saying.

There was a flash of blue and a moment's pause before Anders replied with vehemence, "No one." He looked to Hawke. "Let's go home." Without waiting for her to answer or move, he turned and began walking the way he had come. When he realised she wasn't following him, he whirled.

"Well? Are you coming with me, or not?"

Both men had eyes only for Hawke in that moment. For a few seconds, it looked as if she would break, like she would kow-tow to his demands. Then her jaw set and her eyes hardened.

"No, Anders. No, I'm not." Her voice was flat.

Shock seeped through the blond mage's features. "What? You—"

"—have business to finish conducting here," she finished for him. "You got along just fine without me for a long time, and I'm sure you don't need me on your heels now, either. Just as I don't need you on mine."

Even Sebastian was surprised at the venom in her voice. He had known something was wrong even before he saw how harried her face looked, but now he feared it was a larger problem than he could have thought. Anders tried to formulate a response a few times, though no words came out at first.

"We will be discussing this later," he finally spat, as angry at her as Sebastian had ever seen him. She did not back down, however, and the apostate spun on his heel and left the Chantry gardens.

Sebastian let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and when he looked at Hawke, he saw her shoulders relax.

"Volatile," he commented. Hawke nodded.

"Oh, yes. And you know how much I love throwing more fuel onto the flames," she added, sardonic again.

He knew he might regret what he was going to ask. But he had to. He cared for her too much not to. "What's going on between you two? What happened?"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"So long as you feel comfortable telling me, Maebh."

Her eyes closed. "How much time do you have?"

He grinned affectionately at her, as he reached out and took the orange from her hands.

"For you? All the time in the world." He pulled a piece of the orange off and popped it into his mouth, then guided her to a stone bench with his other hand, pressing gently on the small of her back.

"Good," she said. "Because, I also want to discuss this new unshaven look of yours…"

* * *

><p>It was early evening that found Sebastian and Fenris exchanging their findings. The archer did not mention anything about Hawke and Anders, nor of the long talk he and Hawke had earlier. It was only after eating a late lunch that he had been forced to extract himself from her company; he had to meet with that Coterie woman tonight and had not yet spoken with Fenris. While Sebastian had dealt with the Undercity, Fenris had walked through Lowtown. The elf studied Sebastian's face.<p>

"I'm not sure if it suits you," he mused, referring to Sebastian's half-beard.

"There are two schools of thought on it," the archer replied. "One is of women fawning over my 'rakish and wild' good looks—yes, that is a direct quite of several—and the other is of my face feeling like it's going to itch itself off and disown the rest of me."

Fenris chuckled, then grew serious. "Were you able to find anything?"

"Oddly, I hit the pot, so to speak. A woman in the Coterie knew exactly who I was talking about. I'm meeting her tonight down near Darktown's southern entrance to investigate some rumours." Fenris' eyebrows went up slightly. "Evidently," Sebastian explained further, "she was going to investigate on her own regardless, and decided to expedite her search, offering to let me tag along."

"All the Coterie?"

"Only this one woman. She said they were aware of this Hawke impersonator and some of her dealings, but they weren't working with her." Sebastian's voice unconsciously dropped. "What bothered me the most, however, was that this woman was thinking about joining the imposter if the Coterie themselves didn't. Apparently a lot of people have at least been talking about that, if not doing it."

Fenris looked disturbed, his brow furrowed deeply. "This seems to be more complex and substantial than I originally feared." He rubbed his chin a moment, eyes lost in thought, but then focused back on him. "What else?"

Sebastian drew out his scribbled notes. "It seems this woman has been around for years, but no one paid any attention to her until she started demanding attrition from slavers in the form of their slaves." He winced as he read over the next part. "That's when people started noticing those slaves vanished. No one saw any of them after she took possession. It's all just rumours as to why, or what happened to them—everything from she keeps them locked away for herself, to she magics them away, to blood sacrifices."

Fenris nodded. "Much of that we already knew."

"No on seems to be able to settle on her name—some say it really is Hawke, some say she goes by a different bird of prey name, Merlin, or the like. Some say she only answers to Lady H or Lady M." He shrugged. "No one knows exactly where her base of operations is, though all agree that even if she _were_ really Hawke, it's not at her own estate. Most seemed to think it was either somewhere in Lowtown, or outside the city itself."

"So, why are you meeting this Coterie woman in Darktown?"

"She said she was going to investigate some rumours she had heard. I'm not sure if it's any of those particular rumours, or if it's others I didn't come across. I don't know if it's someone she wants to talk to, or a place she wants to investigate. She did not specify." Sebastian steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Were you able to find anything?"

Fenris hesitated a moment before anwering. "Not about the Hawke impersonator," he said finally. It seems as though he were going to say more, but didn't. Sebastian tilted his head curiously.

"But…?"

"The bandits from the Wounded Coast, evidently they had friends waiting here for them. Friends who were quite dismayed that they didn't make it here with their cargo."

"Their cargo? We didn't see any—" Realisation hit Sebastian like a stone wall. "The _craennerta_," he breathed.

Fenris nodded. "It seems so." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Looks like Hawke's theory of them being simply lovers of old poems wasn't true after all."

"I doubt any of us truly thought it was," Sebastian replied grimly. He could not share even the small attempt at humour in light of that news. "Who were the ones waiting for them?"

Fenris shook his head. "No one I recognised. They all wore the same kind of armour, though, and had dark tattoos on their faces. They spoke of a third party that had been waiting for the bandits. I think they worked for whoever wanted the text."

"Thank you for telling me," Sebastian said. "I will have to look into who these people may be, and how they are connected to Starkhaven or my family."

Fenris shook his head. "After everything I have seen, hardly. I did not hear anything else other than that, though."

Sebastian glanced at the sky through a window opposite where they sat. "If there's nothing else, I should get going back to the Chantry to ready for this meeting with the Coterie woman."

"Do you know her name?"

The archer shook his head. "Not yet."

"Can you trust her?"

"Probably not very much, but she has no real reason to distrust me. That, and we don't have any other leads right now. I'm surprised I found something this promising to begin with, honestly."

"That is true. Still, be careful. Take care to not let her figure out who you are."

This time Sebastian did grin at the elf. "Believe me, if you saw me tonight, you wouldn't recognise me either. I doubt even Hawke herself would."

"Be on your guard, nonetheless, my friend," Fenris said anyway, in farewell.

The two men got up and Sebastian let himself out while Fenris walked to the fireplace to contemplate the flames. He spent too much time by himself, Sebastian thought. It would do him good to stay with a few others. Perhaps he could be convinced to stay at the Chantry a few nights… No, he knew that would never work. Fenris would not agree to it, and even if he did, Sebastian doubted some of the inhabitants would be as welcoming as others.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he hurried back to the Chantry to change into his disguise and make his way to the Undercity.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First and foremost, a few minor changes to this chapter as well, though not nearly as many as the last—merely some to keep continuity with the new line I took the last two chapters. **

**I know it seems from this fic (and others) that I **_**really **_**dislike Anders, but that's not the case; he was my LI my first play through. But... He did lots of stuff in the game that made my F!Hawke butt hurt, and then I fell in love with the idea of Anders angering and betraying Hawke, and Sebastian being the voice of comfort and reason in her world, saving her heart from sadness in the end.**

**Also, timelines mean nothing to me. They are my playthings, and so events are not sequential to the game. Which, of course, they weren't really, anyway, much of the time. But I took many liberties to stick my own plot in there, and also because I hand write this most of the time at work, where I don't have an easy reference of DA2, well, anything.**


	4. Tip of the Blade

**Chapter Four: Tip of the Blade**

"I thought you wouldn't come," a whisper came from beside him. He jumped inside, but flashed a grin at the Coterie woman.

"Och, nae. I want tae learn maire myself as much as you do," he replied in the thick rural Starkhaven burr. His cohort-for-the-night stepped out of the shadows where she had been hiding, and he saw she was armed to the teeth. He felt naked without his bow, despite the longsword, three dirks, and five throwing daggers on his own person. "Where're we goin', then?"

"It's an abandoned warehouse down close to the docks," she replied, beginning to walk.

He followed her closely, speaking in hushed tones. "An' what're we expecting tae find there? Any others?"

She gave a soft laugh. "Oh, I hope there'll be someone there," she replied, but explained no further. "I never got your name," she said.

"Brand," he replied smoothly. He used to use that pseudonym quite often in his past, and he hoped it had been long enough to have been forgotten. Also, that Brand's reputation hadn't made it quite all the way to Kirkwall.

Luck seemed to be on his side with this woman, for she showed no recognition, merely nodding to the name. "I'm Rys. You're from Starkhaven?"

He saw no reason to deny that, nor could he, really. So he gave a sardonic grin. "What gave me away? Aye, I am. Craggspire Province." His ancestors had built their first holdfast there before it had burned and they moved to where Starkhaven proper came to be.

She gave him a broad smile that lit up her face and made the scars across her nose not seem quite as unattractive. "Really. My grandda came from there. I've never visited, but I hear it's breathtaking."

"Aye," he said. "You donnae seem tae be th' typical thug," he commented as they wound their way toward the docks.

She snorted. "What'd you expect? A brainless patsy with no more thinking power than a nug? Not all of us are like that." Rys seemed insulted. "Some of us have no other way to make ends meet. You know," she added. "I hear that the Champion started out in a mercenary group when she first came to Kirkwall." She looked up him and down. "Besides, you're the pot to be calling the kettle black."

They both laughed. "Fair enough," he conceded. This Rys woman was easy to talk to, to get along with. She reminded him a lot of Hawke.

Rys lifted a hand to signal him to stop, and he found his own resting on the pommel of the longsword. It had been a long while since he had fought with sword in hand, but he was capable if need be.

"Slowly," she murmured to him without looking back. The Coterie made a obvious show of her hands being empty of weapons—though the array of them that she wore was clearly visible—and strode to a small group of armoured men. Sebastian followed suit, making sure to walk only a step behind Rys. He couldn't see any of their faces; they all wore helmets with face visors that left only a single slit for their eyes.

"What business have you here?" one of them asked gruffly. Sebastian could not tell which one.

"I hear a rumour," Rys said, all nonchalance. "And I thought it worth my time to check it out."

"You're Coterie?"

"I am."

"Him, too?"

Rys spared a quick glance back at Sebastian. "He's with me."

"Come with us." As a unit, the armoured men turned and vanished into the darkness of a wide doorway, one by one.

"You're sure this isn't some kind of trap?" Sebastian murmured to her.

No," Rys replied just as softly. "But there's no other way to find out."

"You never told me _what_ rumours you had heard."

"Somehow, I think it might be a little late to ask that..."

They stopped their conversation short as they entered into the warehouse and found a veritable hoard of mercenaries and thugs—human, dwarf, and elf alike. All were armoured like the group of guards that had let them in, and they all talked quietly to one another. Sebastian couldn't tell if the first armoured men were now amongst the throng, or if they had returned outside. Some didn't have helmets on, but all the exposed features were darkly tattooed in black ink. No conversations stopped on account of their arrival, but a helmeted guard prevented them from proceeding further on their own. He might have been the same man that had spoken earlier, but it was impossible to tell by looks alone.

"What is your business here?" he asked. He was not the same man from outside.

Again, Rys shrugged and remained cool. "Rumours. Seemed interesting enough to spend some time checking them out."

"What do you intend to use such answers to rumours for?" This man had a strange accent, one Sebastian couldn't place.

"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps add myself to your numbers." Rys seemed bored.

"And what of your friend?"

"A bit o' the same," Sebastian answered in the thickened rural brogue. He tried to subtly look around the warehouse to memorise more details about it, but it was dimly lit and hazy from smoke. He thought he heard strange echoes from somewhere deeper inside the place.

Before he could look any longer, the man who addressed them nodded and beckoned them to follow. Something felt… wrong. Off, somehow. Not quite like the air felt when the presence of an abomination was nearby, or when darker magic was being cast, but still wrong. Old and wrong, like a weight pressing slowly down on the chest. Sebastian tried to keep an eye on their surroundings as they walked, but soon they were going through a labyrinth of hallways and doors and walkways. It worried him that he soon grew unsure of the way out.

They finally came to a halt in front of a thick door with an odd symbol painted on it. It tugged at Sebastian's memory, but he couldn't place it. He tried to commit it to memory to discuss with Fenris or perhaps even Merrill. The man leading them turned, held up a hand.

"Wait." He vanished through the door, the giant wooden closure sliding silent and easy on its hinges, shutting behind him with the faintest latch click.

Rys gave Sebastian a look, hands perched on her hips. He kept his face impassive, thought about asking her a question, but then decided against it. They were outnumbered in strange territory, and he was with his second- and third-choice weapons; he would not dare to say anything that might instigate a conflict. He hoped Rys felt the same. So, they stood in silence for a number of minutes. He looked about, saw nothing but blank wooden walls—the only thing of interest was the painted symbol. When he glanced at her, he found she was staring directly at him.

"What is it?" he whispered.

All she did in reply was give him a slow smile that spread to her eyes. A moment later, the door opened again and the strangely accented man spoke.

"You may enter to the inner side," he told them, showing the way was open with his hand.

Sebastian let Rys lead the way once more, watching her walk with the easy confidence of a veteran fighter. The inside of the room was simply decorated, but with a sleek elegance to it. A large symbol very much like the one on the door was painted on the floor, though Sebastian instantly knew it was not the same one. A queasy feeling rippled through his abdomen, and the sense of wrongness grew. At the head of the room, beyond a small set of stairs, was a table with an array of chairs around it, all empty. Behind that, an old dais sat slightly higher, with a high-backed chair in the centre, looking down on the entire room. Seated on that chair was a woman Sebastian would have sworn was Hawke but for the darker hair and eyes.

"And who are you?" The woman asked loudly. Her voice was all different, without a hint of Hawke's Ferelden accent, and a few timbres too low.

"Coterie," the man who had let them in said. "Coterie who heard rumours."

"Coterie named…?"

"Rys," Rys replied.

The woman looked to Sebastian. "And?"

"Brand," Rys answered for him.

"Well, now that those pleasantries are out of the way," the woman said as she leaned back in her chair, one leg crossing the other and wrists resting on the arms. "What is it you want to know?"

It was all Sebastian could do to bite his tongue and not demand answers to why she was impersonating Hawke, why she was doing whatever it was she was doing with those slaves, what her true agenda was. _All things come to those who wait_, he reminded himself, and left the questions to Rys.

"What is it you do, exactly?" Rys asked.

The woman laughed. "Straight to the point," she remarked. "I like that." She leaned forward and something in her eyes glinted darkly in the torchlight. "We _collect_."

Sebastian's eyebrows went up. _Collect?_

Rys, on the other hand, did not seem impressed. "Collect?" She voiced his internal question, then made a point of looking about the room. "I see no collection of anything about."

"You are a cheeky one," the woman said. "You are also correct. We don't collect to keep. No," came the toothy grin again, "we are more generous. We give our collections up to a greater cause."

"A cause?" Rys narrowed her eyes. "Causes don't interest me."

"Might be this won't, might be this will." The woman stood and slowly walked down the dais, past the table and chairs, to come closer to Rys and Sebastian, though she seemed to ignore the latter. As she drew closer, Sebastian could see she had a lithe frame that, unlike Hawke, was covered by black and dark red suedes and cloths, almost like riding leathers, but more form-fitting and giving to movement. Over top it all she wore a long sleeveless robe that opened in the front, again black with red trim, runes embroidered all along the border in silver-green thread. It stood out, almost seeming to glow against the dark fabric, and looked like mossy stone at the same time. None of her clothes seemed too rich in either material or craftsmanship; they were just like the room. Her robe drifted about her ankles, encased in tall boots that looked well aged. She wore no weapons to speak of, yet Sebastian sensed she could be very, very dangerous if given the inclination. An apostate, he realised, though he saw no staff through which she could channel and amplify her power. He was unsure if that comforted him or worried him. Both he and Rys stood unmoving as the Hawke look-alike walked around them in a circle. She smelled of charcoal, oranges, and hazel, the scents cloying to her like wet earth and decay.

"I hope it is the latter," she said, coming to stand in front of them. "It would be a shame to see you and your… friend… donated to the cause." Her hair was drawn partially back in a leather thong, he saw, and was a much darker auburn than Hawke's. The woman smiled slowly and intimately to Rys. "I would rather see you join my ranks." When she spoke, the spaces between her words seemed to come alive with unspoken promises and secret propositions. The air grew thicker, headier, and her scents grew stronger in his nose.

Sebastian saw Rys's eyelids lower a little, and she let out a slow breath.

"What," she said, her voice huskier than it had been a moment ago. "What sort of cause is it?"

The woman smirked and the air lifted back to normal. "My, but you _are_ a strong one," she murmured. Then, louder, "The cause is an old one. Older than any belief you or your ancestors might have had."

"That… doesn't tell me anything."

The woman laughed again, a deep throaty sound. "You said you are Coterie." It was not a question, but Rys nodded anyway. "Which means you're in it for either money or glory. You seem to like both. With this cause," she went on, "You'll have copious amounts of them. More than the Coterie every dreamed of."

Sebastian saw Rys's eyes light up though her face remained dubious, and found himself wondering was her story was.

"You have my attention," Rys was saying. "But I want to know _what_ the cause is before I agree to anything, not just what it gets me."

"Very well. The cause is one of equality." At Rys's snort, she chuckled. "You scoff, but I speak of freedom, true freedom, from casts. No templars, no mages, no viscounts or magistrates, no kings or princes, no councils. No lords or peasants, just people. The ultimate equaliser. What say you to that?"

For a while, Rys was quiet, and Sebastian still dare not say anything. The woman barely spared him a glance from the start, and he wanted to keep it that way if he could. He was here for information, not to give himself away.

"Everyone would be equal?" The quiet question finally snuck out of Rys. Sebastian looked at her.

"Everyone."

"What about open debts?"

"Debts are still debts. But… money and glory both lend to alleviating them. And we have more than enough of that to go around and spare."

"I like the idea of equality," Rys said.

The woman grinned. "Excellent. I knew you would the moment I laid eyes on you." She finally turned toward Sebastian, eyes alight. "And you?"

Something didn't fit. The rumours of slaves, the disappearance of them… The echoes he had heard, and most of all, the very _feel_ of the place. He didn't trust this woman, but he had to find out more. He didn't see any other choice.

"I can agree with th' idea o' freedom," he answered carefully. The woman's grin broadened.

"A Starkhaven man, I see. You know," she continued, "I heard tell of a band of men on their way here from Starkhaven… carrying a message of great import." His heart leapt into his throat. "Might you be part of that envoy?"

She knew. She knew about the bandit, knew about the parchment, for all he could tell, she knew about the _craennerta_ and what it meant. What did this woman want with a riddle about an ancient colossus? Was she the third party Fenris heard about? He had seen tattoos on all the faces they had passed—he supposed those were the same as Fenris had come across, from his description. But why would an apostate looking for equality want an old family secret?

"I… was unaware of any of my fellow countrymen," he made himself say evenly, "travelling here with such a message."

She studied him for what seemed a long while, and her eyes—a deep amethyst—seemed to bore into his soul. He felt sullied.

"Pity. I might have had use for them. I do hope they arrive on the nonce." She didn't take her eyes from him, and he feared she knew who he was, why he was really there. If she did, however, she said nothing. He squared his jaw and didn't waver under her gaze. She tilted her head back and laughed before turning her back to them to face the table.

"You are both strong, I can tell. We will do well with you in our numbers."

"What are we to do?" Rys asked. Sebastian was relieved to hear distrust still in her voice.

"First, we will equip you, designate you according to how you will best fit."

The archer narrowed his eyes, dared to speak. "You're collating a rebellion?"

"Not exactly." The woman's voice was amused, knowing. "Not exactly."

She walked to the table, picked something up. It looked like an ornate dagger, but the air around it shimmered and shifted strangely.

"First mark of order," she said in a tone that rang through the room, "is the symbol." She turned back to them. "Now I will equip you. Come."

Rys and Sebastian exchange looks before walking to join her. He could feel the power emanating from the blade she held, swore he could hear voices whispering. Hesitation made him pause. The woman gave him a direct stare.

"There are no second chances, no turning back."

Sebastian felt Rys grab his arm, whether to help him along or steady herself he was unsure, but it forced him to keep moving. His mind screamed at him to stop, that this wasn't part of the plan, this wasn't bargained for. But, as soon as his boot touched the first stair, he knew he couldn't stop himself from going through with it. He had committed himself to doing this, to finding out. Sebastian would do almost anything for Hawke, and now the line he had drawn before, the line he dared not cross even for her, grew blurred. More so than it already had been. He didn't think he could stop himself now even if he wanted to—a pulling drew him close to the woman and her blade, a compulsion to continue walking.

Soon they stood beside the table, Rys and he side by side, her hand still gripping his arm. He could feel her shaking and his heart went out to her. All thought stopped, however, when the woman before them touched the tip of the dagger to his chest, just above his heart. He cried out and felt a searing pain rip through him, a piercing and pulling all at the same time. Through the midst of it all, he heard a voice.

"_Thana roth mir thes,_" it said in the tone of the woman, overlayed by a much deeper, grinding timbre. Like steel upon bone. Like bone upon stone. "_Thea aeman staru sié Rhynis, mer can isi té rhumara_."

Then the searing was gone and he fell to his knees, heart pounding. It felt like his chest was bleeding fire, but he couldn't move to check, couldn't move anything but breath and blood. His mind reeled, trying to wrap around everything. He heard Rys cry out beside him, heard the two-toned voice speak those words again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rys fall to her knees, arms and hands bent and shaking as she gasped for air, same as he had. It took nearly all his effort to move his head the few centimetres to look at the woman, and even more to force words from his throat.

"Who—who _are_ you?"

She gave him a beatific smile as she slid the dagger into an unassuming black leather sheath.

"Harres Merlynn."

Then the world went black.

* * *

><p><em>He walked through a columned city, the stone structures running higher than he could crane his neck. There was no one else in the city besides him, yet he was still on edge. It felt like he walked along the blade of a knife, or the narrow rocks of a deep precipice. He placed every footstep carefully, quietly. The weight of his quiver and bow pressed reassuringly into his back, and the longsword scraped along his thigh when he moved. Nothing made a noise in the city, nothing made a flicker of movement. Fear and pain gripped his chest, and he felt the sudden blaze of heat on the back of his neck. He whirled to see a fire consuming the city whence he came, rushing toward him. Forsaking stealth and caution, he turned and tore through the streets, always feeling the flames lapping just behind his heels. A shadow began running to his left, keeping pace with him. It wore a longsword like him, but on the opposite side, and had no bow or quiver. He was larger than the shadow, more broadly built. He couldn't stop to take a look, giving only hasty glances here and there. It wasn't his shadow, he knew. It was a woman's. In the distance ahead, he saw a hill beyond all the columns. At the summit stood a long-haired woman with two long daggers, ready to fight. He had to reach her before the flames. He felt his lungs burn, felt his heart strain. Blood poured from the left side of his chest, and he stumbled, feet slick with blood and unable to gain purchase on the stones he ran on. As he lay in a pool of his own blood, he looked to see the shadow fall. The fire began to wrap itself around her, and she called his name—<em>

-only this time he heard it, and he snapped awake.

"Brand!" Rys shook him.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," Sebastian said, voice thick. Flames reared hot in his mind.

"Good." Rys sat back on her heels, crouched and watching him. "I was starting to worry you wouldn't wake."

He sat up, leaving weight on one elbow. Their surroundings were entirely unfamiliar. They were most definitely not in the warehouse, and it seemed to be mid-morning.

"Where in th' Maker's name are we?" he asked, only remembering at the last second to intentionally thicken his brogue.

Rys looked around them. "Well… we're outside. We seem to be in a small clearing, but it's in no part of any forest I recognise."

"Mm. Any idea how we got here?"

She pursed her lips. "No. The last thing I remember was the pain… The pain and that voice. It said…" She shook her head. "Something. I can't remember if I understood. I don't think I did."

Sebastian remembered. It was the tongue of his ancestors. The tongue the _craennerta_ was written in.

"_Thana roth mir thes,_" he said slowly. Her eyes widened as she stared at him like a doe caught by hunters. He went on. "_Thea aeman staru sié Rhynis, mer can isi té rhumara._"

"You—how do you know that?"

"My grandfather taught me. It's th' auld tongue."

"Do you know what it means?"

He gave her a flat look. "Are you sure you want tae know?"

Rys scowled. "You think there's something that you can handle knowing, but I cannot? Tell me," she ordered.

"It means, 'Man bound to me, I name you my Rune, now part of the whole'."

Moments of silence passed. "And what is _that _supposed to mean?"

He shook his head. He had an inkling, a fear. But, he wasn't sure if he should trust this woman with that information just yet. She seemed as much a victim as he, but she _had_ been Coterie. Still, she seemed different than the other Coterie or bandits they had come across. He opted to err on the side of caution for now. It was easy to hold back information and say it later, but once told, it could never be taken back.

Rys let out a sigh and rested her chin on her arms, folded across her knees. He took the time to study her, to try and really gauge the sort of person he was… somewhere in the forest with. She wore calf-high light boots that clasped together with buckles, brown breeches with padding on the inner thighs for riding, and a dark forest tunic held in place with a leather waist cincher. It didn't seem to restrict her movements, so he supposed it couldn't be too tight, nor did it have any sort of boning in it. The neck was wide, baring her collarbone almost to the shoulders, and the arms of her tunic were held in place by leather lacings, ending in tall bracers with no design, but with many marks. An unadorned longsword touched the ground at an angle at her right hip, while two daggers were on the opposite side. She had a fae-like face, with a small, sharp nose that had those two scars running across it. He remembered thinking at first they detracted from her being pretty, but in the light he saw they were not as ugly as he first thought. Her chestnut hair fell only to her shoulders, and then just barely, the tips of wisps brushing the nape of her neck. Surprisingly, she wore two black earrings in each ear, the first a curved crescent and the other a full circle, adorned with a small stone halfway through. It was a dark green that matched her eyes. Eyes that were focused solidly, if curiously, on him.

"What're you doing?" she asked him.

"Thinking." When he didn't elaborate, her brows went up, prompting.

"Thinking of…?"

"What happened. And where we might be, so we can get back." He had friends he must warn. Maker damn what Fenris had said, this Merlynn woman was not only sullying Hawke's reputation—though after meeting the woman herself, he doubted it was on purpose; she merely looked like Hawke's twin—but she was somehow connected to the _craennerta_. She knew about it_—_if not what it actually said—she knew the old language, and she had a lot of people with her. Sebastian furrowed his brow in thought. Something about that didn't make sense. If she were gathering people for a rebellion against the cast system and everyone who adhered to it, what did her knowledge of the _craennerta_ matter? No, there was definitely something more here.

"Brand." Rys's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"What do you know?"

He feigned innocence. "What d'you mean?"

"You know more than you've told me," she said. It was not a question.

He relented. "You're right. I've not been completely honest with you."

She shrugged. "Most people aren't completely honest. But in the light of what's happened, perhaps it might be a good idea to share what you know." She flashed a smile. "Two heads are sometimes better than just one, after all. So, tell me."

He told her about the _craennerta_, and that it was important to a noble family in Starkhaven to find out who had stolen it from them. Sebastian left out everything about his companions, and why he originally was seeking out Harres Merlynn. He told her he did know about his "fellow countrymen", and had killed them because they were bandits who were carrying the text. He had retrieved the stolen item, now he just needed to find out who took it and why, which was not terribly far from the truth. After he had finished, she smirked at him.

"Didn't really give details, huh? I knew your lord told you more than you let on at first."

He chuckled sheepishly. "Aye, weel… it pays tae be careful sometimes."

Rys gave him a knowing smile. "Don't I know it." She stood smoothly from her crouched position and stretched. Hands on hips, she looked down at him. "But we all have to make do with what the Maker gives us and throws in our path, no?"

"True that," he replied. He stood as well, limbs stiff. "How long d'you think we've been here?"

Rys looked around, worrying the space between her collarbone and left breast with a pained expression. "At least six or seven hours, if it's been less than a day."

Sebastian did not like to think they had been lying there for days. He was quiet a moment. "I donnae think we were intended to come here."

Rys cocked her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

He met her eyes. "Think about it. Merlynn put us through a ritual—the first one, according tae her. She also mentioned designating us, so I cannae imagine us appearing in a forest clearing—" He made a sweeping motion with one hand—"as being part of her plan."

"Then how could we have gotten here if the last thing we both remember is the pain and that voice?" Rys looked worried.

Sebastian felt her worry, too. "I donnae rightly know. I couldna say." He winced as a sharp pain shot through his chest. He put his fingertips against the place where Merlynn had touched the dagger point, and found it searing hot.

Quickly, startling Rys but offering no explanation, Sebastian all but tore off his hooded mantle and unlaced his tunic to pull it down, exposing the top of his chest. Grimacing, he looked at the muscle and horror filled him. Where the dagger had been placed above his heart, where the pain was most acute and the heat the greatest, was a rune, branded into his flesh. He heard Rys suck in a breath. Tearing his eyes from the rune, he looked in time to see Rys tug her own shirt down enough to expose the skin above her left breast. She made a soft, strangled noise upon seeing the same rune burned into her.

"What in all the corners of the Fade _is this_?" she exclaimed.

"A rune…" he answered, unable to think of anything else to say, thoughts whirling to catch up. He was trying to remember again what the voice had said, but couldn't think of anything but the rune on their flesh.

"Well, I can see that," she snapped. "Do you know what it means?"

He couldn't take his eyes from the rune on her skin, dark red and black as if it had been burned directly onto it, not from some dagger spell. There was something… something he should be connecting, about the colossus…

"I think it means we're in a lot more trouble than we thought."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'd like to thank all the people who are following this and favouriting this-it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside... but the lack of reviews! If you like it, tell me why! Tell me what you don't like. I'm unsure if I should keep writing mild dialect for Sebastian's thicker, rural brogue to differentiate from his normal speech, and I'd like to know what my readers think about it. I've tried to keep it to only a few words, so as not to be overwhelming or annoying to read... but just let me know if I should continue with it, or cease and desist with it (also going back and changing it).**


	5. Runes

**Chapter Five: Runes**

It had taken the better part of a half hour to calm Rys down, reassuring her he really didn't know what it meant, and wasn't just keeping information from her. After that, she had sat down on the ground, knees drawn into her chest, sword digging into the earth at an awkward angle behind her. She hadn't said anything for at least ten minutes, which at first had been a relief from the near-hysterics she had been in before, and had given him time to look around the area a little. Sebastian never went too far, however, always keeping their clearing in sight. Maker, he wished he had his bow instead of a longsword. When he went sourth of their clearing, he saw a landmark he recognised, and felt relief spread its fingers through his chest. They were far from safe or even knowing what next to do, but they could at least figure things out on the move now.

When he went back to fetch her, though, she still didn't say a word to him, didn't even meet his gaze.

"Rys?" he said gently. "Are you okay?" The pain in his rune mark had long since faded, but he was uncertain if that would be any indicator for hers.

She didn't answer and he let out a breath.

"Look," he said sternly, and at least got her to look up at him. "You cannae act this way. We've got tae _do_ somethin' about this, an' sitting around silent is not going tae help." He made a motion to the north. "I've found a landmark I know, and it might be you do as well. But I will nae stand for you tae brood like this." Sebastian set his jaw. "Though, I _will_ carry you if I must. But I can promise you will nae like it."

Like clay giving way under too much pressure from water, her face slowly cracked into a smile and quiet laughter poured from the fissures of her lips.

"You're face is so serious, Brand," she told him. "I'm sorry. I _am_ being silly." Her face grew serious as well. "I do not like momentous things like this happening to me and not knowing the consequences. I _hate_ not knowing."

He stared at her a moment, her sudden vocabulary taking him by surprise. It wasn't that she seemed unintelligent before by any means… just unassuming. Hearing speech like that from her was unexpected. Again, he found himself wondering what her story was. Sebastian watched her get to her feet, gently touch the rune through her shirt.

"Does yours still hurt?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "Nay. It stopped hurting a while ago. Yours?"

"No. Mine stopped as well." She took the time to brush dirt from her backside. "Take me to this landmark of yours."

Sebastian smiled a bit, but it was more a flabbergasted expression than one of any amusement. Not for the first time in his life did he wager on never understanding the workings of women.

"It's down this way," he said, leading her south of their clearing.

They walked for about ten minutes before the trees opened up to the edge of a cliff. A thick conifer canopy sprawled out below them, and in the distance rose Sundermount. Rys stared at it in disbelief.

"How in the all the Maker's creations did we end up north of Sundermount from the docks of Kirkwall?" she asked, not sounding as if she truly expected an answer.

Something tugged at his memory. A few murmured words, a symbol drawn in the air with a shaky hand, all surrounded by dim and flickering light with long shadows. It was very hazy, but if he closed his eyes… He wavered a little on his feet and felt a hand grab onto his arm.

"Brand." Rys's voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in his memory. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked him, concerned. He opened his eyes to look at her. "You look pale."

He did feel drained, he realised. "Nay," he said instead. "I feel fine. We should get going if we donnae wish tae waste maire time." He went to take a step to one side to search for a trail down to the forest below, but Rys kept her hand firmly on his arm. He shot her a look, half turning to her. "What is it?"

"I think we should wait before heading back," she told him, eyes not leaving his face.

"Are you unwell?"

"I think it would just be a good idea all around," was her reply.

Sebastian's gaze turned suspicious. "Why?"

Now she did avert her eyes, a light blush rising in her cheeks. "I know… I know I said I wanted to join that woman, Merlynn…"

"But?"

"But it seems… wrong. Something feels wrong about it. This," she let go of his arm to motion to her chest, "_rune_ was more than I ever bargained for. And it was only the first step if what she implied is true." Her face became pained. "It's not like I want to do this sort of thing for the rest of my life. And this seems a bit more permanent than I would like. So, I don't exactly want to rush right back into it all."

Sebastian nodded. "Aye. It was a wee bit sudden. And unexpected." It worried him, that rune that was now branded into his flesh. He had been there to gather more information—and so had Rys, for that matter—and had instead got swept along into joining a group he knew little about, that had their hands reputedly elbow-deep into unscrupulous activities. He frowned, thinking back on events. "Something bothers me about what she said," he began after awhile.

Rys chuckled. "Only one thing?"

"Maire than one," he amended, giving her a mildly irritated glance. "But one near the top o' all others." Before continuing, he motioned to the valley below them. "Shall we stay here or find somewhere down there to make camp?"

Rys bit her lip in thought, balancing fingers on her hips. "I see nothing wrong with the clearing we woke in," was her answer. He nodded and led them back, talking as they walked.

"The thing that bothers me was when she said she collected… and then went on tae say she'd rather nae see us 'donated' tae th' cause, but tae join her forces." His brow furrowed, eyes dark. "That leads me tae believe she 'donates' people tae… something." Sebastian shot his companion a look. "You never _did_ tell me what the rumours you _heard_ were."

She gave him the same look in return. "Neither did you," was her reply. "Would you care to, now?"

He pursed his lips and let out a sigh. "Aye, I might as weel." He gathered his thoughts, told her of the slaves vanishing and what people theorised Merlynn was doing with them. Her brows went up.

"That all?" she almost laughed. Sebastian's look was hurt. "Oh, I'm sorry," Rys cooed. "I didn't mean to rain on your head about it."

"Weel, what were th' rumours you've heard then?" It came out almost a challenge.

Rys kept on smiling as they reached the clearing they started at.

"That she _is_ involved with blood magic, but that was the lesser of the evils. I've heard she brings back sacrificed slaves to work for her as dead minions, that she was making an army of them. No one can agree on for what purpose, though. I've heard everything from taking control of Kirkwall to destroying it, to killing everyone in it and all the Free Marches, to burning it all." Even though they were alone, her voice dropped. "Worst of all, I heard she's discovered and dredged up some magic much, much older and far more dangerous than blood magic. That there's ancient horrors we've all forgotten the stories to what she's trying to resurrect."

Doubt showed on Sebastian's face, and he didn't bother to mask it. _Not everyone has forgotten_, he thought, remembering his grandfather and his legends. But they were just stories, and all Rys had heard were rumours.

"And you _wanted_ tae throw in with a woman rumoured tae be doing _that_?"

A half-smile tugged at one corner of Rys's mouth. "That was the worse half of it. The other rumours I heard told of her freeing the slaves and taking them underground, maybe even out of Kirkwall, to train them into her army. An army to overthrow the Qunari—"

"Who are already gone."

"—who are already gone," Rys repeated, glaring at Sebastian for interrupting, "to over throw the viscount, and now, Meredith and Orsino. To do what she actually spoke of—make no class the _only_ class." She shrugged. "For someone working in the underbelly of the city, and especially those who _live_ there… It holds a lot of appeal."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes as he searched for a few suitable logs to create seating for them. "Rys… what _is_ your story?"

The smile she gave him was sad, and it tugged at him. "Not today Brand. Maybe I'll tell you some other time." She turned to back to him and walked out of the clearing, calling back something about gathering wood for a fire. He could only watch her go.

With Rys somewhere in the forest nearby, Sebastian was left to carve out a shallow fire pit with a flat stone he found. By the time she returned with an overflowing armful, he had made a small camp—two logs set up adjacent to one another, and kindling next to the pit he had made. When he saw her struggling with the load of sticks, he leapt to his feet to catch her—and the firewood—before she stumbled off balance.

"You know," she said as they set the wood down together. "You're rather nice for a hired sword."

A smile tugged at the corners of his eyes, threatened to add his mouth. Sebastian didn't look at her when he answered, merely arranged logs in the fire pit.

"We can't be hard and aloof all the time," he said.

He didn't see her smile sadly to herself. "No," she replied softly. "No, we can't."

She didn't press him any further, nor he her. Though the sticks were piled in the pit, Sebastian didn't start a fire. It was nowhere near dark yet, and they had yet to hunt something down to cook. To drive home that point, he felt his stomach rumble. Standing, he twisted to look at Rys.

"I'll go find us something tae eat," he said. It was his usual job when out with the group, but it wasn't until he was well into the forest that he remembered he didn't have his bow.

"At least it'll make things interesting," he said, able to speak normally while out of Rys's hearing.

He hated to admit it, but it felt good to be undercover, doing things he thought he had left behind him. He still loved the Chantry… but he did not realise just how much he missed the skulking and underhandedness until he found himself in the midst of them again. He'd have to be careful, he chastised himself, else he might not want to foreswear this lifestyle again.

Quietly, he slid one of the curved daggers he wore out of its sheath and altered his stance and walk to silence his footsteps as he slid through the gaps in the leaves. Everything came back to him like second nature. He felt his senses open up and take in more of the forest than they had before—scents, sounds, the smallest movements. Eyes trailing the earth, he found the faints tracks of a rabbit, maybe two. Sebastian walked alongside the tracks, pleased to see they ended in a burrow. Memories of his eldest brother's hunting dog, Roan, filled his mind, and he briefly wished he had such a companion to dig the rabbits out if they were within. Instead he padded around the nearby bushes until he flushed one out. The hare bolted toward the burrow too quickly for his curved blade to find it, but his other hand whipped a throwing dagger out and pinned the creature to the ground. Sebastian had caught its hind leg, and it squealed in pain as it tried to wrench away.

"Forgive me," he murmured to it, then thanked the Maker for his luck and opened the hare's throat with his curved dagger. It died quickly.

By the time he returned to their camp, Sebastian had caught another hare, and he saw Rys had erected a crude sort of spit over the fire pit. She smiled at him as he sat on one of the logs to skin and dress the hares.

"At least we won't starve out here," she remarked. The look her gave her was incredulous.

"Oh, ye of apparent little faith," he said. "Did you think I'd call meself a Starkhaven man with pride if I coulnda catch my own dinner?"

"I wouldn't have called you a man at all," was Rys's quick reply.

He threw the freshly skinned rabbit hide at her, which she easily caught, still smiling. It was too easy to get along with her, this woman whose story he didn't even know. Then again, what she knew of his was a lie, so he couldn't judge. He would respect her choice to not tell him of herself, her past, and settled on the future instead.

"What're you goin' tae do once we get back tae Kirkwall?" He began skinning the other hare.

Rys went over to him to collect the first rabbit and put it on the spit. She took several minutes to answer him.

"I can't go back to the Coterie. They'd find out about this… this rune immediately and kick me out, if I'm lucky."

"Lucky? What if you're not?"

She didn't look at him. "They'll just kill me."

His brows went up. "Cutthroat indeed," he said under his breath. She nodded, having heard him.

"They are that, if nothing else. But on the same token," she continued, watching fingers of flame reach up to lick at the hare carcass, "I don't think I want to go back to Merlynn's group." Her face scrunched. "Something felt very _wrong_ about that whole place."

Sebastian nodded. "I felt it, too."

Rys sat back on her heels and rotated the spit slightly. "How deep do you think her connection with your cray… your riddle runs?"

He shook his head as he stripped the hide from the hare and laid it on the log. "I honestly donnae know. An' I have nae idea what'd she'd want it for."

Rys scraped her teeth along her bottom lip as her eyes stared toward the ground, though he could tell she was lost in thought rather than looking at anything in particular. "What does the riddle mean?" she asked after a few moments.

She had come this far with him, albeit unintentionally, but he decided she still had a right to know at this point. Sebastian told her what he knew of the colossus from the riddle after he translated it for her. Of its history in the rocky mountains surrounding Starkhaven, and its history with the ancient clans who had lived and seen it both awakened and put back down to earth. He told her how some of the ancients had tried to control it, but that it had always gotten out of their control and wrought havoc until it was put down by those of stronger blood.

After he had finished, she remained quiet. Then, softly, she said, "Perhaps it's not the riddle she's more interested in, but the subject of the riddle she wants."

Sebastian shook his head. "Och, nae. If it was ever maire than legend, it was centuries and centuries ago that it was last awoken and defeated."

Rys made a noise that told him implicitly that she didn't believe him, but she didn't press the issue. "There are just so many things that don't make sense, that don't add up with what you've told me," she said instead.

"I know it. I need tae find a way tae find out maire about her without anymore tattoos being burned into me," he added wryly, gaining a pained smile from Rys.

"I second that." Now, she did look up at him as he skewered the other hare on a sharpened stick, leaning it on the log for their dinner later. She rotated the roasting hare once more, its skin beginning to crackle and darken. "What will you do when we reach Kirkwall? Where will you go?"

The first thing that came to his mind tumbled out his lips before he thought to stop it. "Find a place with a good stiff drink." Rys laughed and her eyes lit up with mischief.

"I just might join you in that one, Brand."

Which would be a bad idea, he knew. He'd head to the Hanged Man, and would be recognised by patrons, be joined by his companions, and have to explain why he was consorting with a Coterie—former Coterie—woman. Only Fenris knew the truth, and he couldn't imagine trying to come up an explanation to tell all the others. He winced slightly. Especially not Hawke. Or Varric, who could certainly take his being in the company of Rys quite the wrong way.

"You wouldn't want to return to Starkhaven and report to your lord?" she asked. He could almost swear her heard a hint of sadness in her voice, but he dismissed it as nothing.

"Nay… I need maire information first. And I'm closing in on the trail, I think. It'd be remiss of me tae abandon it now," he answered. The more time he spent with this woman, the more he got to know her, the more guilty he felt about keeping up that deception. But, he told himself, it was necessary. Perhaps when everything was taken care of, he could tell her true.

She drew out a small dagger and poked at the hare, the skin splitting easily where she pressed the point. Rys rotated it once again to get the final side cooked the same.

They both were quiet for a long while after that, each lost in thought. They cut tender pieces off the hare and ate quietly, only murmuring words of thanks here and there. To his surprise, Rys closed her eyes and mouthed soft words before she ate, even as he had done so in his head. He couldn't hear them, but he recognised prayer.

"You're devout?" Sebastian inquired.

She blushed, eyes intent on her food. "Not—not really," she stammered.

One brow lifted on his face, and his lips twitched. "Donnae worry, I willna let your secret slip. You can maintain your rough reputation," he teased. This woman certainly was full of surprises.

"It's not that, Brand," she blurted exasperatedly. She mildly spun the dagger that held a speared chunk of meat. From the look on her face, he could tell she was debating telling him something.

"You donnae have tae explain yourself," he told her gently. "I was making a bad jest, is all."

Her brow furrowed. "No… you told me true when I asked. I owe you this," she said. He felt the pang of guilt again, but pushed it aside as she began to speak.

"It was my father," she went on. He quietly ate his portion of hare, eyes intent on her as she stared at the fire. "He should have died when I was a baby. But he was saved by some intervening force, he always said. There were no healers around to help him, but the fever didn't take him. He even kept his leg, and walked okay after." Her eyes grew hooded. "I never believed him. All the stories he told me, all the times he took me to prayer, I thought it was just luck." Here she had to halt, a small hitch catching her voice.

"You changed your mind?" he asked gently.

"I adored my father. He was the only one there for me after my mother left us when I was small. He went off fighting before I was born, and came back with a wound that festered. We didn't' live close to anyone, and my mother could only do so much by cleaning it. The fever took him, and she feared he'd have to lose his leg or his life." She closed her eyes, breathed deep with memory. "He told me one night he had given up all hope of recovering, and breathed out what he thought would be his last prayer. He said he saw a golden and a silver figure at the foot of his bed before he slept that night, a man and a woman, and they watched over him. He said they touched his leg and his head, and for a moment, he felt covered in their silver and gold."

"A fever dream?"

"He always swore it happened, until his true dying breath. They next day when my mother went to check on him, the wound was the cleanest it had ever been, and showed signs of healing. A week after that, he could limp around the house." Rys fell quiet.

Sebastian felt a swell in his heart as he imagined her father being healed by Andraste and the Maker himself. A man truly blessed, he thought to himself, though he was careful not to let his feelings show on his face. Instead, he let out a low whistle of appreciation. "Something did help him, then."

"I don't know. All I know is that after that, he devoted himself to the Maker and Andraste, believing them to have healed him. My mother always thought it was her constant tending of the wound that finally paid off. It became such a point of contention between them, she left I the middle of the night."

His brow knit. "I'm sorry, Rys."

She shook her head. "Don't be. I don't even remember what she looked like." She took another bite, as if to focus on something other than her memories for a moment. "I never was as devout as Father until he got sick again. I brought a healer from the town by, and he said it was the worst case of stonescale she had seen."

"Stonescale?"

Rys let out a small, mirthless laugh. "Be glad you don't know what that is. It's rare, but terrible—to have and to watch. As the days passed, I watched my father's skin turn hard and grey as stone. It starts at the ends, the fingers and toes, and creeps inward until it turns all your insides to stone. There's no cure." Her head bowed and she was quiet for a while.

Sebastian said nothing, didn't know what to say. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but felt he would be out of line to do so. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, though not as strong. She shook her head, sniffed once.

"Nothing worked. By the end, he looked as if someone had carved him from stone, his face in an eternal scream." Rys shuddered. "Up until the end, he kept swearing it was the Maker's will for letting him live a full life after he should have died all those years ago, so he could watch me grow. Through all the pain, he remained as devoted as ever. My faith was never as strong as his, but I found myself thinking there had to be something to make him so unshakeable."

Something wrenched within Sebastian. He had been forced into the Chantry against his will, forced into service of the Maker against his will. Eventually, he had grown to enjoy it, to believe in the calm prayers and songs instilled in him, but this woman he had taken for a common sell-sword who joined the Coterie, she had come to the Maker through pain he could only imagine. His family had been murdered, but he didn't have to watch the die, powerless to do anything about it. He wasn't sure he would have taken it as well as she.

"I thought you dinnae want tae share your story with me," he said instead of all the things he wanted to tell her.

Rys looked up at him, eyes blurry as if the memory were still fresh, but she smiled all the same. "I'm not just one story, Brand. That all happened before I ever set foot in Kirkwall."

He felt heat rise in his cheeks from the embarrassment of his assumption. His eyes found the rest of his hare. "My apologies for prying," he began.

"No need," Rys cut in. "You can't know all that. We all have secrets, and no one person should know all another's." She took the time to dry her face, then finished the meat on her dagger before tossing a few more pieces of wood onto the fire from the pile by her feet.

The sun slanted through the trees, dappling them both with deep golden light. They would not need the fire for warmth that night; it was still warm from the day and felt as though the night wouldn't cool much.

Standing, Rys said, "I'll see if I can't find a stream nearby for water." He nodded.

"I saw one in th' valley toward Sundermount, but we wouldna cross that 'till the morrow," he replied.

She vanished into the tress without responding and he watched her go. He hadn't seen any streams in the immediate area he explored earlier, but he understood her need to be alone. While she was gone, he carved more of the hare for himself and mulled over what his next plan of action upon returning to Kirkwall should be. He wasn't sure how prolific Merlynn's group was—if they roamed all of Kirkwall and reported to her, or if they stayed within that warehouse once they joined. Despite Fenris's desire to not tell the rest of the party, Sebastian now planned to. Merlynn was not trying to impersonate Hawke, she was merely a woman who looked like her. Fenris was probably the logical first stop for him, after which they would both go to Hawke to tell her and the others. He grimaced, wondering if he should show them the rune he now had. It would probably be for the best.

The snapping of underbrush had him whirling, dagger in hand and eyes scanning the bushes behind where he had sat for danger. Rys came out from them, full waterskin in hand and an amused look on her face.

"Going to _'hare'_ me to death, Brand?" she quipped.

He looked at her a moment, not understanding, then glanced down at the dagger he held, complete with a large chunk of hare meat on the end. He smiled sheepishly.

"Mayhaps I was," he said. "Hare _could_ be your only weakness."

Rys rolled her eyes and handed him the waterskin.

"Here," she said. "I had an extra one." For emphasis, she patted another full one hanging at her side.

"My thanks." Sebastian uncorked the one he held and took a swig. It ran cool and sweet down his throat, and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

"You _are_ bad at making jests," she said, sitting on the ground to lean against her log. He sat on his. "But it's also sort of endearing."

They decided to alternate watches that night, and filled the rest of the purpling evening with increasingly more comfortable conversation. He regaled her with tales of Starkhaven's past and some from his youth—though he neglected to mention his royal birth—and she told him of interesting exploits she had been in with the Coterie.

"I never knew they had spread so much," he commented after one story she finished.

Rys nodded. "That's the point. If everyone knew, we couldn't be able to do all those things." She caught herself. "I mean… they wouldn't have been able to spread out so far." Rys shook her head, poking at the fire. "I've been with them for years now, and it's hard to make the change in my mind."

"I know what you mean."

At his comment, she eyed him. "Does this mean you're no longer working for your Starkhaven lord, since you joined up with Merlynn?"

Sebastian pursed his lips. "It was nae a willing decision," he said. "I didna intend tae join her. But, at th' time I saw nae other way tae find out maire information. I wouldna call myself affiliated with Merlynn."

Rys let a shudder ripple through her. "I remember her saying she would rather not see us _donated_ to the cause… Do you suppose that means she would have sacrificed us?"

He took his time in replying, not willing to believe Merlynn would really be trying to awaken an ancient horror such as the colossus, but for Rys's sake he wracked his mind for all he knew about the colossus. "I donnae rightly know the precise ritual to awaken the colossus, but I donnae think she can yet. There has tae be a certain number or amount of blood, she's got tae have th' right words tae say… And I believe she's got tae have its runes drawn into flesh an' stone." The weight of what he said didn't occur to him immediately.

Rys looked at him, worried. "The kind of runes we have on us?"

Understanding dawned on him, and he could feel his face pale. "She… she had a lot of people in that warehouse… covered in dark tattoos."

"How many runes does she need?"

Sebastian didn't hear her. He fought with the fog of memory and the dim light that had been in the warehouse, trying to remember if any of the tattoos he had seen on the armoured people had been runes. Marker damn him, he couldn't remember. He swore under his breath.

"Brand?" Rys was looking at his eyes, distant one moment, then focused on her. "Don't get lost in thought just yet. How many runes does she need to awaken that thing?" she asked again.

His answer was grim. "I… I don't rightly know." A deep breath found its way in and out of his lungs. "If that's truly th' first ritual, and she had a whole hoard of people already there…"

"Do you think now she might want to awaken this thing?"

Sebastian chewed the inside of his cheek before answering. "I—Perhaps. Perhaps it's a bit maire of a possibility than I originally thought. If she did the same thing tae them that she did tae us…" He trailed off, the thought sinking in.

Rys's brow knit. "But," she said, "We have the same rune, don't we?"

Now he wasn't sure. "I thought so," he answered, but doubt was evident in his voice. They both exposed skin to compare the runes on their flesh. They were the same size, had the same perpendicular lines, the same two dots on the left side.

"Why should it matter if we have the same rune?" he wondered as she sat down on the ground again.

She shrugged. "Maybe it means others might have duplicates. Maybe she doesn't know all the runes yet."

"I hope that is the case," he murmured.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, allowing the stars reign over the skies. Their second hare they cooked, saving half for breaking their fast in the morning. For a while they sat in silence, Sebastian on the ground as well as she, both of them leaning to look up at the stars. Sebastian had offered to take the first watch, and after the length of silence fell over them, he assumed she had fallen asleep. His eyes drifted to the low fire, deciding to let it dwindle to embers in the warm night. Then his gaze inexplicably founds its way to her from, shadows and light flickering in their dance over her soft clothes. She lay with her sword across her, left hand resting on the leather grip. After a while he realise he was blatantly staring at her, and snatched his eyes away, tilting his face skyward again.

"Have you ever heard the story of the Carver?" Her soft words caught him off guard, and he stole a glance over to. She didn't wait for his answer before continuing. "He always was in my favourite stories that my grandda would tell me before he died," she went on. "Lorn the Carver."

It ade him think of the brother Hawke never mentioned, who had died battling an ogre as they fled Ferelden and the Blight. Sebastian only knew about him because of overhearing Hawke and her sister talk to another about him a few times in the Hanged Man, or when they thought their companions asleep.

"What about him?" Sebastian was familiar with the story of Lorn the Carver, but he wanted to heard Rys talk.

"Before there were only countries or cities, or even men themselves, before the dwarves ever set foot outside their caverns, or the elves their forests, giants ruled the world. Not ogres, or the giant creatures we see today, but earth giants. Stone giants, tree giants. They built stone and earth and wood temples into the sides of mountains. One day, they all vanished. It was as if not one had ever existed, save their works of stone and earth. Lorn was a rare man that wished to learn how they shaped the rock and earth to their wills, and so he went on a journey to find out what happened to them." Her voice was smooth, sliding over him like silk. She didn't quite have the Kirkwall accent, and the more she spoke, the more hints of Starkhaven he heard. Perhaps being around his thickened brogue, coupled with her grandfather coming from Craggspire gave her that hint of lilt. He felt a sense of calm fall over him as she continued.

"Lorn travelled the entire known lands and beyond, but found no trace of them. The only thing he found was an enormous stone circle, with dozens of stones erected in three circles, each only larger than the last. In the centre were three stones four times the height of a man. Lorn could feel the age of the circles, he could feel the old magic used there. He slept there that night, and when he woke, he had the giants' knowledge of stone, earth, and wood. Before he left, he carved the three centre stones into the likeness of the giants—one for stone, one for earth, and one for wood. So the world would never forget them. As he travelled after that, he carved giants into stone and anything else he felt worthy. He built some of the most magnificent buildings sense the giants, and passed his knowledge down. They say he didn't die so much as become a carving himself." She trailed off, voice sad all at once. "Perhaps he was the first case of stonescale," she mused quietly.

He wished he were close enough to touch her, to give her reassurance. "He probably found a way to vanish and join his giants," he said. He had heard this story from his own grandfather, who like to say the crags were the giants' bones, and the entire world their carin. _We must always show respect to them_, he would tell Sebastian. _For the ancient things, the dead, and the earth they sleep in._

"Perhaps," she repeated.

"Lorn always reminded me of a song my grandmyr always sang when she put us tae bed, or when she walked us back from the river," he said, remembering. "It's a sad song, though."

"Can I hear it?" The question was almost timid, and he glanced at her, though her face was now shadowed in the dying firelight.

"If you wish," he said, feeling slightly nervous.

"I would," she breathed, and Sebastian cleared his throat softly.

"Very well, then. Ah, it's been a while, so… forgive my rustiness."

"I'm sure it'll sound fine." He could hear the smile in her voice.

He closed his eyes and drew a breath in through his nose. His grandmother, her face tanned and strong-boned, with deep green eyes and steel-grey hair curling around her jaw, came to mind. He heard her unshakable voice lift in song, even as he did so with his own. His rich baritone voice filled the empty spaces in their small circle of firelight, and he grew more confident with each round note.

"When the work of day is done

the sun has set and night is come

then the hardest time's begun

the hours I dream of her.

The sunlight dancing in her hair

the way her fingers showed she cared

though her beauty could compare

I own, but she was mine.

But then she turned her back on me

and went with him beyond the sea

though I know it will not be

oh, how I dream of her."

His voice rose to a mournful keen as the notes climbed to the high reaches of his range.

"And when the moon is rising high

I'll take my chisel and my eye

and carve her likeness from the stones

no longer will I live alone.

Her eyes I'll carve from greenest gem

her lips from rubies set therein

from rose quartz I will shape her skin

I wish for love in vain.

When the morning light comes in

and gives the stones a living tint

my heart's blood freckling her face

I chipped my life away."

The last note hung in the air as he let his voice diminish to its natural conclusion. His grandmyr's face faded and he opened his eyes. He had put too much of his own heart into the song, he knew, but he could no more keep Hawke from his thoughts than put down his bow and quiver the rest of his life.

He heart Rys murmur incomprehensible sounds that told him she had drifted to sleep. He'd take it as a compliment to his singing ability rather than him boring her to sleep with it. Settling his hands on his stomach, he returned his gaze to the stars, wondering if Hawke were looking at the same ones he did, and if she thought of him as he did her. Probably not, he decided, letting a sigh escape him. Anders filled her nights now, and Sebastian doubted that left much room for him. Especially with everything Hawke had told him the other morning in the Chantry.

Pursing his lips, Sebastian's thoughts filled with concern for the colossus, Merlynn, and now the growing worry over Anders and the increasingly volatile mage situation. He doubted staying awake his entire watch would be a problem.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: **This is a filler chapter, but it's got quite a bit of important information and backstory of Rys and all that. And an original song (of course by yours truly) thrown in at the end just for fun. Unfortunately, the next few chapters are probably mostly filler/game plot chapters to move things along, get information out, and all that. Some of the game plot is tweaked to fit my own purposes, but I think it stays fairly close enough to it to not raise too much of a fuss.**

**To the anonymous reviewer who doesn't like the mild dialect writing, sorry, but I've decided to keep it—yes, I know he already has an accent we all imagine normally, but the point of the dialect is to differentiate when he's thickening it around Rys from his normal speech.**


	6. Reverie

**A/N: This is where some of that Mature Content mentioned for "later chapters" comes in. It's not a lot, but it's there. Fair warning.**

**Chapter Six: Reverie**

It took them four days to reach the outskirts of the City of Chains. Much of the way there, Rys would bring up the subject of Merlynn's true objective being not to form a rebellion for the equality of everyone, but to awaken the colossus from old Starkhaven legend. The more they spoke about it, the more serious Sebastian began to think the situation was. He still was not completely convinced she could actually do it, but the motions she would have to go through that he knew about were atrocious enough to make him want to stop her—colossus actually being awakened or no. On the fourth day, they stopped for a brief noontime meal at the house of a farmer he knew, and by early evening, were setting foot inside Kirkwall proper. Caught between wanting to get to his companions and not wanting to just run off, Sebastian set a meeting point and time with her, the next morning, in a small courtyard in Hightown. Rys looked nervous and unwilling to go off by herself, so against his better judgment, Sebastian suggested for her to stay at the Chantry that night. That seemed to calm her nerves somewhat, and she agreed more easily to his meeting offer.

After parting with her, he hurried to the back entrances of the Chantry and slipped in. His room was nearby, thankfully, and he was able to enter with no one the wiser for having seen him. He quickly changed and shaved, a muttered curse slipping out as he nicked his jaw with the blade in haste. As he left, slinging bow onto his back, Sebastian forced himself to walk calmly, with his usual long and sure strides. Many of the sisters and mothers gave him odds looks, and the hope he had not been missed was dashed immediately.

"Sebastian!" Grand Cleric Elthina's voice rang clearly in the quiet temple. He winced, though she did not sound angry with him. He slowly turned as she walked over.

"Yes, Grand Cleric?" It almost felt odd to hear himself speak normally, having imposed the rural brogue on his tongue for so many days in a row.

"Would you like to speak about where you've been these past five days?" She shook her head. "I know you wish to help serah Hawke, but you've at least always let us know beforehand in the past."

He felt his face redden, felt green as a new archer. "Ah, my deepest apologies, Grand Cleric. There was an emergency that came up in the middle of the night, and I had to make haste to deal with it. It was entirely unexpected, and I will make sure to leave a note next time," he continued. The lie—half-truth, he mentally amended—came easily. Too easily for his liking.

Elthina didn't even question it. Instead she gave him a small but knowing smile. "You are spending more and more time with our Champion as of late," she noted.

"It's not what—"

"Sebastian." Her voice was soft but firm, and reminded him far too much of his grandmother. "You are overly concerned by vows you are not held to any longer. Once, I would have welcomed you back into the same service to the Chantry as before, but… I see how you look at her; even when she is not here, your face betrays you." She held up a hand to his protest. "I also see how she looks at you. You are the last of your line, Sebastian, and you have Starkhaven to think of, not just the Chantry." She smiled. "We will keep without you as a sworn brother. You must keep the future in mind." Elthina relaxed her hand. "No decisions now. I just want to remind you, and let you know you have my blessing if you so choose that path."

"I—Thank you, Grand Cleric." Sebastian could not help but smile as the older woman turned and went about her duties. He appreciated the woman talking to him about such matters, but in truth, as much as he wished he could focus more on them, they were some of the furthest from his mind. Much heavier things weighed on him, things that might be needed to be dealt with great care and speed.

The tides turned against his plans, however, as he arrived at Hawke's estate to find Varric and Merrill already there. They seemed to be expecting him as Bodahn led them all into the foyer. Faolan, the mabari always at Hawke's side at home, ran up to Sebastian with his stub of a tail wagging. He chuffed happily and rolled onto his back for a stomach scratching. The archer obliged as Varric addressed Hawke, coming from the adjacent library.

"We're all here, Hawke," he was saying. "Shall I go first, or do you want to?"

Hawke seemed to barely be able to keep a smile contained, and she motioned with her hand. "Age before beauty, Varric."

He scowled at that, but addressed Sebastian, anyway.

"I've got some good news for you, Choir Boy."

The slight snub of a nickname had long ago stopped bothering Sebastian, and so he didn't even react to it. "What is it?" He straightened from scratching Faolan, who flopped over to his side with a sigh.

"I found out who hired the Flint Company."

Sebastian's eyes grew wide, and for a moment, all his own heavy news fled his mind. He could finally avenge his family's deaths.

"Who? Who hired them? Are you certain about it?"

The dwarf held up both hands. "Whoa, calm down. I'm getting to all that. I _am_ certain, first off. Secondly, I hope the name Harimann means something to you."

His breath stopped. "Why?"

"Because that's who hired Flint Company."

Sebastian's world reeled, and it took a moment for him to respond. "It… It can't be. That can't be true."

Varric's brows knit together. "And here I thought you'd be showering me with thanks and adulations."

Sebastian went on as if he didn't hear. "You're absolutely certain the Harimanns are the ones?"

"Yes, I am absolutely certain," Varric responded, insulted. "I have good contacts, and they've not led me wrong yet."

"I take it you know these people," Hawke said slowly. He nodded.

"The Harimanns were my parents' staunchest supporters, and close friends. Their daughter was to marry my elder brother."

"Well, you know what they say," Varric said. "Keep your friends close—"

"—And your enemies closer," Hawke finished.

Sebastian shook his head. "They've never expressed the smallest interest in overthrowing my family. Why all of a sudden murder them all?"

Hawke stepped over and put a hand on his arm, looking up at his face.

"Why don't we go and ask them?"

* * *

><p>It was a short walk to the Harimann's estate from Hawke's, but Sebastian's legs and heart felt like lead the entire way. What if Varric was right? He didn't exactly doubt the dwarf so much as he did not want to believe the Harimanns could have turned on his family.<p>

Their little group all stopped and looked apprehensively up at the mansion, but nothing on the outside denoted any sort of disquiet, and no sounds came from inside.

"Well," Sebastian said, shouldering to the front of the group. "Let's get this over with."

He rapped loudly on the door, surprised when it swung open, not locked nor even fully closed. The estate was dimly lit inside, and something in the air felt… wrong. Like oil on water, a tainted feeling slid through the empty spaces of the estate. A growing dread filled the pit of Sebastian's stomach, but he stepped inside, calling out the names of the people he desperately hoped were still family friends. No answer came, though after they began to wind their way through the rooms, voices drifted to them. Each time Sebastian led them to investigate, however, they stumbled upon members of the estate acting out desires—some lustful, others more material in nature. He winced when they came upon Brett Harimann, son of the nobles he grew up knowing, in the midst of receiving pleasure from a woman he didn't recognise, and Hawke put a hand on his arm. He shook his head as they left the room.

"The acts themselves, depraved as they might be, aren't the things that bother me most. I _knew_ these people, Hawke," he explained. "Knew them from childhood. This is not how they act."

No one they came across seemed to recognise him, or even truly see the four strangers in the estate.

"There is something very sinister going on here," Varric noted as they walked down a hallway, deeper into the building. "Some kid of magic?" He looked to Merrill for confirmation.

"I… I believe so," she said, uncertain. "I really can't think of anything else that might cause this, this…"

"Crazed behaviour?" Sebastian supplied with no mirth to his tone, though a sardonic smile twisted his mouth. "Aye, I think you've the right of it. I want to find Lady Harimann and get to the root of all this." He strode onward, determination setting his features like stone. The others trailed behind him.

They came to stairs heading to a wine cellar, and Sebastian took them two at a time. They were getting closer to whatever was making these people act this way, he could feel it. As he descended, he heard wavering, drunken singing. He recognised the voice.

"Flora?" he called out as he reached the bottom. "Is that you?"

"Oh, Sebastian!" a faint voice called out. "Is that our princeling come back from the Chantry at last?" She sounded very drunk.

A young woman in a white underslip stumbled out from behind two large barrels, and half-ran, half-careened toward him. Sebastian caught her awkwardly, and was surprised not to smell any drink on her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, holding her upright. "What's happened here? You're the first person to even acknowledge our presence—"

She cut him off by grabbing his face and planting a sloppy kiss over his mouth. He heard someone clear a throat loudly behind him, and knew his companions had finally caught up with him at that inopportune moment. He wrenched himself free of Flora to fix a stern look at her.

"Well," Varric said, thumbs hooked on his belt. "Now I know why Choir Boy bounded ahead for the first time."

Merrill giggled at the joke, but Hawke was strangely silent. She usually had a quip or jape or some sort of scathing humour to share at a time like this, but all Sebastian saw on her face was hurt. Her eyes were guarded when he met them.

"Hawke, I—" He shook his head. Now was not the time. Instead, he motioned to the seemingly drunk woman trying to hang off him, saying his name over and over. "She's the first to acknowledge seeing us," he finished lamely.

"_You_, at least," Merrill commented. He pointedly ignored it.

"Seems like she's been dipping into the private stores," Varric said, watching Flora's movements.

"Except she doesn't smell like alcohol," Sebastian replied. 'I'm not-"

A sharp wail of his name and the woman behind him suddenly collapsing on the floor cut him short and had him spinning to her. He started for her without thinking, until she opened her mouth to speak again.

"Sebastian why do you scorn me so?" Flora moaned, tears streaming down her face. "You said you'd take it, that'd you have me," she babbled. "Then you left, you never came by, never said another word. And they wanted to shuffle me off to your _brother_." The last words were a screech, and the woman launched herself at him, a host of shades and other members of the estate appearing in the cellar out of nowhere.

Flora tackled him with inhuman strength, sending both of them rolling across the floor. He heard sounds of his companions fighting and tried to yell to them not to hurt the Harimann family or their servants, but Flora's nails raked across his face and he felt blood across his nose and lips where she caught him. He managed to wrestle her off and catch her temple with a cuff of his bracer, hard enough to knock her off-balance. It pained him to do so, but he grabbed a thick stirring stave from the floor and whapped her on the back of the head with it. She dropped like a stone and he knelt to make sure she was still breathing, then turned to see his companions similarly disarming other people from the estate. The shades were all gone. He used his stave again on a man about to grab Merrill from behind, then tossed the makeshift weapon to the floor.

"Definitely magic," Merrill said as they regrouped to catch their breaths.

"Thank you, Kitten," Varric drawled, eyes rolling. "We would have never guessed after the shades showed up."

'You're welcome, Varric," the elf replied cheerfully. "I'm always happy to help."

Sebastian looked at Hawke, wiping her face clean of mild blood spatter on her face from the fight. She still hadn't said anything, but looked directly at him when she noticed him peering at her. Her gaze was icy, and it caught him off guard. He was about to say something when a stirring came from behind him. He whirled, tense and ready, to see Flora struggling to sit up, a hand held to her head.

"What—" she began, then caught sight of them. "Sebastian? What are you doing here?"

He narrowed his eyes, and liked that not. "What do you remember?"

Flora's face paled. "Mother," she breathed.

"What about her?"

"She—she vanished. Down further in the cellars."

A glance to his companions told him they were as startled as he. "You mean this isn't the end of them?" Normally, the wine cellar was the lowest level of the Hightown estates, so it was surprising to hear Flora speak of still lower ones. She went on to explain to them how her mother had been acting strangely for a while, and had started to dig into the earth. She didn't understand it, and nothing was explained to her, but the last thing she remembered, so she said, was her mother vanishing into the new depths she had created below the estate. Then the next thing she knew, she had somehow ended up in the wine cellar in nothing but her underslip, with Sebastian and his companions before her.

After she finished, Sebastian had only to glance at his friends before they all jogged as a unit to where Flora told them the entrance to the sub-cellar was. Quickly, they descended down to a cavernous room, roughly hewn from the rock itself. At the far side of the room stood an alter, with a kneeling figure in front of it-the woman Sebastian knew as Lady Harimann.

"I sense blood magic," Merrill warned them before Sebastian could run over to the woman and demand answers. He nodded and reigned himself in, forcing his feet to carry him cautiously forward.

"Lady Harimann," he said when they were closer.

"Sebastian Vael," the older woman replied, but it was not the voice he recalled from his youth. She stood, rising to her feet in an eerie fashion that didn't seem to have her using her muscles—it was as if she were a puppet on strings that someone lifted upright. "I was hoping you'd come to see me." Her eyes snapped to his, and he sucked in a breath.

He froze and all sounds became muffled, though he saw Hawke step in for him to engage Lady Harimann in conversation. The woman was a shell of the person he had known, and he was certain it was the work of a demon.

Slowly, a voice slithered into his mind, curling around in his head like tendrils of fog. It was a low, female voice, soft and seductive.

"I know what you want, Sebastian," the voice said.

He tried to move, tried to speak, but he was held in place as if he were stone. His vision tunnelled, and he shut his eyes tightly to stave off the feeling of vertigo that rushed through him. When he opened his eyes again, he found he could move. He was in Starkhaven, in bed, and he was sitting up, sweating. Breath heavy, he raked hands over his face and through his hair, the sweat slicking it back. He remembered going into a deep, dark cellar with rough walls and wooden stairs, but then his mind got hazy.

There was a stirring next to him, and a soft voice he knew well had him dragging his eyes to the other figure in his bed.

"Sebastian, are you okay?" Maebh Hawke asked, eyes heavy with sleep. "Was it another nightmare?"

_Another nightmare?_ "I… I don't know," he replied, unsteady. "I can't seem to remember it."

A smile spread across her face as she slid against him. He could feel her heat and soft, bare flesh press against his side, felt the curve of her hip and the swell of her breasts. She ran her hand over his thigh.

"Since you're up, and have woken me up," she said, her fingers tracing spirals higher and closer to his core. "And since you can't remember… why don't we make use of this time before the council meeting this morning?" He shuddered and groaned as she took hold of him fully, and he hardened to fill her hands.

A wicked smile made her bite her lower lip the way that drove him mad, and he succumbed, leaning over to capture her mouth in demanding possession. His calloused hands ran down her sides, flesh pebbling in their wake as she manoeuvred to be on top of him. He slid up inside her, eyes briefly rolling back, and hesitated with a breath, putting his eyes back on her and pressing his hand gently against the swell of her belly.

"Is this way okay for you and the wee one?" he heard himself asking. The words… the words somehow felt wrong on his tongue. He blinked, shook his head slightly.

She took his face in her hands. "It's fine," she told him. "I spoke with the midwife only yesterday, and she said as long as it doesn't hurt or put undue pressure on the baby, and I can still manage to bend enough to do it—" here she giggled— "then it's perfectly all right to do whatever we like."

He smiled up at her, ran his hands up the strong muscles of her back, and moved his hips. She sighed and moved along with him, her hands braced on his chest and eyes half-closed in pleasure. She brought him to his peak as he saw her face and chest flush, and he tried to push in deeper, to touch the molten centre of her as he spent himself. She smiled down at him, breath heavy.

"I remember the first time we got to break in your princely bed," she told him as she slid off him to one side. "You said so long as you started your day off like this, there were no matters of state you couldn't face."

He smiled back at her, but try as he might, he couldn't find that memory. He couldn't remember their first night together, couldn't remember their wedding—the only reason he knew they were married was the silver ring on his left hand and hers. That worried him, but he would not show her that it did.

They dressed without rush, she into a blue and white dress with red chevrons up the sides, he into a dark grey and blue tunic with a leather breastplate over top. As he belted his sword around his waist, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that this was off somehow. He couldn't place it, so he chalked it up to the dream he had woken from, that he still couldn't remember.

Sebastian and Maebh walked through the stronghold of his youth, talking quietly about recent matters of state. Rather, she talked most of the time and he listened, because he couldn't recall any of them, either. There were large holes in his memory, and it was concerning him more and more.

They reached his small hall to receive the lords and ladies that made up his council. One by one they greeted him and his lady, Prince and Princess Regent of Starkhaven, some congratulating him for the swift way he had retaken the city and the years of rebuilding peace that followed. One even commended him for allowing his ladywife's sister to join the Circle in Starkhaven. That set off alarms in Sebastian's mind, though he took care not to let it show. Starkhaven's Circle was not in the best of ways last he had heard, and Hawke's sister had been talking about seeking out the Grey Wardens to join them, ever since the Deep Roads. He decided to listen very carefully to what everyone had to say. Something was definitely very wrong, and he knew now it wasn't just him being off-set by a misremembered dream.

Unfortunately, nothing more out of the ordinary was said. Everything seemed to be usual affairs of running a government, and the politics that came with nobility and peasantry. The meeting concluded amicably, and as they bid the noblemen and women farewell, he held his hand out for Hawke to take. As she placed her had in his, his brow knit. It felt different, her hand. Callouses in the wrong places, fingers longer and leaner than they were supposed to be. Sebastian looked from the door the last nobleman just left by over to her, and sucked in a sharp breath.

"_Rys?_"

He stared at the former Coterie and his mind and world reeled. Starkhaven faded away, and Rys stared back at him.

"Sebastian? What? Where are we? What's going on?"

He shook his head, baffled. There was something, something niggling the corners of his memory…

"What is this?" The voice that had slid into Sebastian's mind in the cellars of the Harimann's estate rang through the air again, no longer soft and seductive.

Rys's rune glowed a fiery orange, and Sebastian felt a pain sear through his own chest. Crying out, he knew instantly what was going on, now.

"Andraste send you back whence you came, demon!" Sebastian snarled as his muscles snapped into automatic motion, drawing, nocking, and releasing and arrow all in the same fluid movement. His arrow flew straight through the throat of a dark, flesh-coloured demon of desire, knocking her back against the alter. Dark liquid bubbled at her throat where his arrow stuck, and ran down her neck and chest. Lady Harimann shrieked and her flesh moved and reformed itself until she was a hulking abomination. Her words came out as unintelligible sounds, and his companions focused a immediate series of attacks on her. He, on the other hand, only had eyes for the desire demon, and they were full of blue fire as he nocked two arrows, one above the other on his bow, expertly held with steady fingers. He walked toward her, everything but her fading from the edges of his vision.

"How _dare_ you," he growled at her. She grinned maliciously at him, despite her wounds.

"It was what you wanted, wasn't it, princeling?" the demon sneered. "I could have given you all of it, your heart's greatest desire, if only—" The demon stopped short. Confusion twisted her face. "Who _was_ that woman…?"

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Rys had not been part of the demon's magic, that much was clear. He didn't understand it, nor did it seem like the demon did. He recalled the rune flashing on Rys and his own pain, and wondered if that had anything to do with breaking the spell.

The desire demon had regained her composure. "No matter. If you lower your bow, princeling, I can still give you all you desire and more." She looked over at Hawke, who was cutting through the abomination under the demon's control. Sebastian could not stop his eyes from sliding over to Hawke as well, watching her lithely move around the abomination to flank Varric's front attack with Bianca.

The demon's voice slid and echoed through his mind again.

"I can give you her…"

Violently, Sebastian shook his head and roared, reverting his eyes and rage back on the demon.

"You—will—not—sully—her," he snarled through his teeth, then let his arrows fly. They embedded themselves between ribs and into lungs and heart. The demon let out a screech that sundered the very air itself before stiffening and dissolving into the air, leaving his three arrows clattering to the floor.

He thought he heard a low whistle from somewhere, but he still saw red where the demon once stood, where now only his arrows lie. Only dimly aware of voices behind him, the vision the demon had superimposed on his mind's eye played again through his head. It _was_ his deepest desire, and it had nothing to do with the Chantry. His nostrils flared in anger, whether at the demon or himself he could not decide. A hand came down firm on his arm.

"_Sebastian_." Hawke's voice shattered his thoughts and made every muscle in his body tense. He fought the instinct to whirl and raise bladed weapons in defense, reminding himself who she was.

When he composed himself enough to draw in a deep, shaky breath, he turned to face the others. Merrill openly gawked at him, and Varric's eyes were wide.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen him quite that ferocious," the dwarf confided to Merrill in awe, loud enough that Sebastian could hear.

"Are you all right?" Hawke asked, and the archer couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.

"I—Yes. I'm fine. Sorry. I—" What could he say? Certainly not what the demon actually showed him. He shook his head. "I don't know what came over me."

Varric laughed, startling Sebastian. "What I'd call damn good righteous fury, is what came over you! Man, that was something for the books." The dwarf captured his own chin between thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.

Sebastian sighed and waved a hand. "No. Leave me out of your stories, Varric."

"And let the _Prince of Starkhaven_, stalwart friend and constant companion to the Champion of Kirkwall fade into the mists of time? I think not, my friend." The dwarf's chuckle did nothing to reassure Sebastian—it only made him worry more for his reputation. "Don't worry, I won't ruin your wholesome values." He laughed again as if privy to some private joke, and Sebastian wondered just how much of his rakish past the resourceful dwarf knew. Probably every last detail, the archer decided sullenly.

He felt a tug on his arm and realised Hawke still had hold of it. He looked at her, and when the false memory of how she felt, how she tasted, reared up again, he averted his eyes, heat blazing in his cheeks. He knew they all could see it, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't look Hawke in the face right now. He extracted his arm and mumbled some sort of apology before striding quickly beyond them all, back the way they came.

"We should go," he said, louder. "I now know why the Harimanns turned on my family, and they won't be a problem any longer. There is no reason to linger." He wanted to leave that place as swiftly as his legs could carry him—he still felt the vision in his mind as clear as day. He hoped it would dull with space put between himself and the desire demon's lair, and he heard the others break into a jog to catch up with him.

He had calmed as they left, the servants and family in the estate coming out of their delusions of desires. He spoke briefly with Flora again, and she ran off to the cellars to try and salvage something of her mother to bury and mourn. After that exchange, Sebastian fell quiet the rest of the way out. Once outside, Hawke addressed him. She wavered between stern and awkward, probably over his outburst confronting the demon.

"Are you heading back to the Chantry now?"

He shook his head. He was able to look at her again without a wave of instant guilt and desire washing over him. "No… I actually have matters of great import to discuss with everyone." He grew grave. "There have been unsettling developments concerning the _creannerta_."

"Oh, dear," Merrill said quietly.

"There's also one last piece of your family puzzle to put in place," Hawke said cryptically. Sebastian looked at her, enquiring, but she would explain no further. Instead, she looked at Varric and Merrill. "Would you two round everyone up to meet at my estate as quickly as they can?"

"Sure thing, Hawke," Varric said as Merrill echoed the sentiment. They headed off in opposite directions.

Which left Sebastian alone with the one person he didn't want to be alone with right then. But, instead of asking anything about what happened with the desire demon, Hawke merely beckoned him to follow her.

"Come on, I want to get there before everyone else." She started off at a light jog.

It was a short run across the square to Hawke's estate, and when she led him inside, he noted the dwarves and Orana were nowhere in sight. At his questioning look, Hawke shrugged.

"I gave them the night off," she explained.

He dreaded the next question. "Anders?"

She seemed to sense his apprehension and smiled, albeit sadly. "He's been at his clinic more often than not these days. But," she continued, her face lightening again, "I have something for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, that's what I said, isn't it? You're the only other one here, Sebastian. It's in here." She turned and went into her library, and he had no choice but to follow again.

Once through the doorway, she turned to him, an arch look on her face. He raised a brow at her.

"Close your eyes," she instructed, and he did so only after giving her another questioning look and her repeating the request.

He heard her soft footsteps move away from him, heard the quiet scrape of wood against wood, then she walked back to him.

"Hold up both hands," she said, and he heard the smile in her voice.

Sebastian obliged, though she clucked her tongue at him, and she rotated his wrists so his palms were facing up. Then he felt the weight of slender wood placed carefully into his hands, and his long fingers wrapped easily around it.

"Open your eyes."

When he did, an ash and yew bow filled his field of sight. It was unstrung, yet still made the smoothest curves of any bow he had ever seen. The main body of the bow was ash, a light bone colour, while darker yew inserts melded smoothly to form the recurve of the upper and lower limbs for greater tension. It had been skillfully and lovingly crafted, and he turned it over to run his thumb over his grandfather's mark. His heart was in his throat and filled his eyes as he looked up at her.

"Maebh, I—How did you—" He shook his head, overcome with joy and unable to properly express it. "You have no idea what this means to me," he finally managed. "I thought I had lost this to those mercenaries, never to see it again." He looked down at the bow again, another part of his grandfather's legacy passed to him. He hoped he was finally ready to wield it as it should be.

"I think I have some idea what it means to you," Hawke said softly. His eyes flickered up to meet hers and saw a reflection of what he felt in hers. "I'm just glad I got to be the one to return it to you, Sebastian."

Gripping the bow in one hand, he stepped forward to close the gap between them and drew her roughly against him in a tight hug. He buried his face in her hair, breathed in her scent of cinnamon and loam, whispered thanks over and over again. Her arms went around him to grasp his shoulder plates, and he swore he felt the pressure of her lips on his neck. He couldn't say how long they stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, senses filled with nothing but her. A loud clearing of a throat pulled him out of his reverie and them away from each other. Hawke's face, Sebastian noticed, was flush. He tore his eyes from her and looked at the doorway, the bottom portion of which was filled with Varric's stocky frame. A knowing look perched on his face.

"Nice bow," he remarked, then jerked his head back slightly, once. "Blondie's on his way in. Just thought I'd give the head's up." With a dismissive wave of his hand, the dwarf turned and went back into the larger receiving room.

Sebastian spared a glance to Hawke, and saw the desire demon's vision flash through his mind again. He took a steadying breath to clear it, to remind himself what he needed to tell everyone, then strode out to the main room, Hawke on his heels.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Game plot (sort of)! Moving things along, and yes I know they're out of order. I'm writing them to try and stay as close as I can while still melding them to fit the story's best interests. Rest assured, faithful readers, there is a great deal more to come.**

**Thank you for the lovely reviews so far-I hope you all keep reading!**


	7. Breaking the Rules

**Chapter Seven: Breaking the Rules**

They had taken the news better than Sebastian feared they might—especially Fenris for not having been told before everyone else, and Hawke, who cracked a joke about bad impostors. Sebastian wished he could have told Fenris first, but time and events weighed against him. He kept an eye on Anders throughout telling the whole tale, the mage acting restless and fidgeting every few moments. Sebastian also took care to note that Hawke pointedly did not look at the apostate the entire time. He knew Varric, at least, also noticed that dynamic—the dwarf and he exchanged looks when Anders got up at one point to pace behind the rest of the group. He told them about Rys and the runes being burned into them, and mentioned the symbols on the door and floor of Harres Merlynn's warehouse, drawing a quick sketch of them for Anders and Merrill to look over. Neither recognised them. Anders eyed him and wanted to make sure he wasn't misremembering it, and Sebastian had nearly snapped at him.

Varric motioned to Sebastian with his hand. "Can we see this rune?"

A moment's hesitation stilled him before Sebastian nodded. He unbuckled his chest plate, opened the fastenings to his coat and gambeson, and then pulled down the tunic he wore beneath all that to show them the brand. He felt embarrassed to be under such inspection as everyone in the room moved to get a closer look. He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing.

"It seems… angry," Merrill said.

"Does it hurt?" Aveline wanted to know. Sebastian made a face.

"It's more of a constant aching rather than any sharp pain," he replied.

"May I feel it?" Hawke asked. Anders shot her a sharp look, but said nothing.

Sebastian hesitantly replied, "If you like." He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she reached her hand up and lightly pressed her fingers against the rune. Even through the heat the rune generated by itself, he could feel her fingers adding their own to his skin. His heart felt like it thudded in his chest at her touch, and he desperately hoped she didn't feel it. If she did, Hawke didn't react to it, aside from looking up at him as she withdrew her hand.

"It's very… warm," she said, musing. "Almost hot to the touch." He nodded.

"That's how it feels all the time, now."

It was then that he told them of Rys's suggestion that this Merlynn woman wasn't really trying to incite rebellion more so than to awaken the colossus.

Long moments of silence stretched out before him, until Anders said, "Really," in the most unconcerned manner. "Why do you think _that_ is more likely than a mage trying for equality in this climate?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Sebastian took a moment's pause to collect his thoughts. "The runes. The statement 'donated to the cause'. Her interest in the _craennerta_." Sebastian shook his head. "There's just too much out of place with every other explanation, save that one, to dismiss it. It's obvious this woman hasn't done anything, yet," he continued, watching Anders scowl at the symbol he had drawn, Merrill peering over his shoulder.

"How can you tell?"

Sebastian shrugged. "We'd all be dead already. It had to have been the Maker's will we happened to kill those bandits carrying that missive to her before they reached their destination." The look Merlynn had given him after he told her he didn't know anything about the message made him involuntarily shudder. It had felt like she was boring holes into his soul. "I don't know if she recognised me at all."

Hawke gave a sardonic smile. "You do sort of stick out in a crowd. Even with all the scruff you had on your face."

He did not take the humour in her words. "I was also wearing a disguise, so I certainly hope I haven't lost too many skills that I can't blend in anymore."

She shook her head and made a small motion with her hands. "A joke, Sebastian, not an insult."

He didn't reply, raking fingers through his hair. They itched to do something, and he had a hard time keeping them still. It was an old habit from childhood that always used to drive his mother mad.

"What do you propose we do?" Aveline asked.

"She must be stopped," was the simple reply.

"That much is obvious," Varric put in. "The bigger problem is _how_. If she has as many people with her as you say she does..." The dwarf shook his head. "I just can't believe I haven't caught wind of any of this."

Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have been dragging you around with me quite a bit, Varric. Don't beat yourself up about it."

His eyes were determined. "I won't. But, now that I _do_ know about it, I'm going to exhaust every source I know to try and get everything everyone _else_ knows." With that, he got up and took his leave with a short farewell.

Aveline followed him out, saying she'd order the patrols in that area of the docks to keep their eyes out for suspicious activity or odd-looking groups of people. She agreed to keep the real reason under wraps at Sebastian's urging. Merrill copied the symbol from the paper Anders still kept hold of, and left, mumbling to herself about what it could be. Anders drew Hawke aside to speak with her, while Fenris did the same with Sebastian.

"Fenris, I'm sorry to not have told you before," Sebastian began.

The dark elf shook his head. "Do not worry about it. The situation escalated far beyond what either you or I could have guessed." His eyes flickered over to where Anders and Hawke were having what appeared to be a quiet argument. "Do you know what's going on between them?"

The archer's gaze followed his friend's. What Hawke had told him nearly a week ago she told freely, but Sebastian did not like to gossip, and felt the contents of their conversation were too personal for him to comfortably share.

"That is probably best heard from her," he answered carefully. "And best not now."

Fenris studied his face for a moment before nodding. "Very well. I will be in the mansion if you have need of me." They clasped forearms, before Fenris turned on his heel to leave.

Anders' and Hawke's voices rose slightly, catching Sebastian's attention enough for him to turn to see what was the matter. He had intended upon leaving them alone, but the sharp edge to their voices gave him pause. There was too much tension and dissent between them, and the growing pressure Meredith was putting on Hawke amplified everything. She had told Sebastian that Anders hadn't been himself at all for quite some time, and that they argued almost constantly. That, and the arguments were always over the same thing—mages. Hawke cared as much for mages as anyone—her own sister was one, after all, as was the man she had taken to her bed—but she had told Sebastian she just couldn't turn the other way and let people with such power run amuck. She had seen too much damaged caused, seen too many blood mages, for her to do that. She had told him Anders considered that just as good as siding with the templars wholeheartedly, despite how many times she told the mage that she thought Meredith was too extreme. He just wouldn't listen. And then, he asked her to get him into the Chantry. He hadn't told her why, still refused to tell her why. That worried both her and Sebastian. He didn't like to intrude on personal affairs, but Hawke meant a lot to him, and before he could think to stop himself, his feet took him over to her and Anders.

"I can't believe you would take something like that without my permission!" Hawke was seething.

"How was I to know what was going to happen? This is _not_ my fault, no matter how you try to twist it," Anders retorted.

She gaped at him. "Really? A competent mage like yourself went and did something that turned to be out of your control? Did you think using my _father's staff_ as a conduit for a _demon_ was a good idea? I was going to give that to _Bethany_." Her eyes hardened into crystals of ice. "I think you should find somewhere else to sleep tonight, Anders."

The mage's brows went up and he opened his mouth to speak, but Hawke cut him off.

"_Now_."

For another moment, Anders looked as if he were going to strike her; though she didn't shirk and Sebastian had no illusions that she couldn't defend herself, he felt a protectiveness grab his heart like a vice. It wasn't his place, but he spoke up sharply, anyway.

"Anders," he said curtly as he strode up beside Hawke. "I think it best you go, before any of us do something we might regret later."

The mage glared at him until Sebastian began to fear he would actually be set on fire, but in the end, the other man merely snarled out, "That's twice, now."

Hawke retorted, "And three for you, since we're evidently keeping count." Her arms folded across her chest. "Get out of my house, Anders." Even Sebastian gave a quick glance over at the venom in her tone.

Anders sputtered a few times, then simply turned and stormed out. As soon as the front door slammed behind him, Hawke seemed to collapse so abruptly that Sebastian reflexively darted out to catch her. Faolan, the mabari, lifted his head and whined softly.

"It's okay," Hawke told him, then, to Sebastian, "I'm okay." She gently extracted herself from his arms.

"What was that all about?" His question was soft.

"_Please_," came the plea. "Let's do this over a bottle of wine."

He followed her back into the library and sat, watching the flames dance in the fireplace as she poured them both a glass of wine. She handed him his as she drew her chair close enough to a low table between the chairs to prop her feet on. He took a sip of it as his eyes flicked back to her, watching.

"Are you even allowed to drink wine being in the Chantry?" she asked him suddenly.

"I've not heard of any rules against drinking at all, wine or otherwise," he replied. "It's not a part of any vow I'm aware of."

"No, just chastity, conveniently, is," she murmured into her glass, then drank nearly half of it at once.

"Hawke," he began reproachfully.

"It doesn't matter," she interrupted harshly, not meeting his eyes.

Sebastian shut his mouth and stared into his wine, opting to remain silent until she was ready to speak. Several moments and a refill of her glass passed before she spoke again.

"He took my father's staff." Her voice was flat, as if she had separated herself from whatever emotions had been connected to it. "Did something with it, something to do with Justice. Took it somewhere. I don't know where, and he refuses to tell me."

"I thought your father died across the Waking Sea?" He drank more wine. It was red and heady, an older vintage he imagined she had procured from Fenris.

Hawke nodded, bringing a hand up to massage her temple.

"He did. Mother… Mother was able to save a few of his things. Trinkets and books, mostly. Bits of memories of him." He watched as the emotionless façade she put up crumbled into sadness. "But not the staff. We couldn't find it."

Sebastian's brow knit. "Then how…?"

"An old friend of my Father's. I stumbled across him a few months ago, and since then, packages of old letters and other small items have been showing up. The last to arrive was the staff."

His face softened and his heart ached for her. "You truly do know how I felt when you gave my grandfather's bow back to me, then."

She nodded, smiled sadly, and finally looked up to meet his eyes. They really were the windows to her soul, and for him, they were thrown wide open. Something exchanged between them, more than empathy, more than understanding. He knew, she knew, and it was only the world that stood between them. Elthina was right, he realised. She had been right all along, and he had just been turning a blind eye to it.

"Hawke…" He took a breath, took another long drink of wine. "Can you get it back?" He already knew the answer. She set down her glass.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, but her voice was still steady. "He said it was gone. Destroyed. Said he tried to use it for… for some ritual to separate Justice from himself." She shook her head. "He said it didn't work, and the backlash of magic shattered it." She lost it a little then, and the tears spilled down her cheeks and his heart broke. He reached for her, but she mildly pushed his hand away, then wiped the tears from her face. "I didn't want it for myself," she whispered. "Bethany's name day is coming up, and I was going to surprise her."

She cried softly then, for a few minutes. He could not simply sit there and watch her, so he stood and went behind her chair, gently smoothing down her hair. This time, she reached up and grasped his hand tightly, and he squeezed hers back. Instead of letting go, she pulled it down against her collarbone and entwined her fingers with his. Her mabari filled the doorway, standing nearly as tall as Varric, and came to his mistress after hearing her give a shuddering sigh, ears back and tail slowly wagging. She scratched him with her other hand as he came over to lick her fingers and sit down beside her, resting his huge head in her lap.

When she had finished, she released Sebastian's hand and he went into a side washroom to bring her a bowl of cool water and a small cloth. She thanked him meekly, then washed her face, the mabari being kindly shooed to the fire. He lay down with a huff, but kept his eyes on Hawke.

"I'm sorry for that," she apologised as he handed her the bowl. "I don't… I don't like to fall apart. It's just, with everything going on in the city, and everything with Anders…" He waved it off.

"It's nothing to apologise over. What," he ventured, "was the three times for Anders, if I may ask?" He moved to sit down in his chair again.

"That I told him to go," was the neutral reply. Her front was back up again, he saw, though not as strongly as before. "Things were simple, once," she went on. "Not quite as simple as I would have liked, but simple enough. I don't know where it all went wrong."

Sebastian pursed his lips, watching her. He had to say it. It would hurt, and she wouldn't like to hear it, but it had to be said.

"Hawke," he began, and heard more firmness in his voice that he wanted. "Hawke," he said again, softer. "Anders is an abomination."

Her eyes focused and sharpened on him immediately, much like her namesake's would, he imagined. He'd seen lesser men crumble under her predatory eyes, but he would not. He had taken on a falcon as his own sigil; he would and could hold his own.

"_What_ did you say?"

"I'm sorry to have said it so bluntly, but it's the truth. He's possessed by a _demon_, Hawke," Sebastian continued. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he heard a very quiet, very low growl come from Faolan. He sensed the tenseness in Hawke, but considered Sebastian a friend, and so was only warning. Sebastian had no doubt whose side the mabari would take if it came to blows.

"Justice is a spirit, an embodiment of our virtue," Hawke maintained.

"And what about when it's Vengeance?" the archer asked quietly, daring her with the depths of his own eyes.

Her mouth hung open a moment, then she closed it. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and she leaned forward, hands hanging between her knees as her elbows rested on them.

"I just don't want to believe that of one of my friends," she said, deflated.

"I know. I don't, either. But it's a truth we have to face." A thought struck him. "Didn't you say he was doing some ritual involving Justice?"

She nodded, but then her features twisted. "Except…"

"Except what?"

"He had me help him look for some ingredients—for the ritual he said. I—I don't know much about magic, but they seemed… odd."

"What were they?"

She listed a number of items that Sebastian didn't recognise. "He said he needed quite a bit of them." Her brow knit even further. "Come to think of it, that was right before he asked me to help him get into the Chantry without notice."

Sebastian did not like the sound of Anders doing anything underhanded in the least. Especially when it concerned the Chantry.

"And he didn't tell you why he wanted to get into the Chantry?"

Hawke hesitated, then bit her lip and looked away.

"Hawke," Sebastian urged. "What did he say?"

She didn't meet his gaze as she answered, quiet. "He told me he thought he found a way to separate himself from Justice. An obscure ritual he thought might have worked. He said it needed to be done within the Chantry—though I didn't know until after I had snuck him in there that he also had taken, used, and apparently destroyed my father's staff as well. He told me not to tell anyone what he was doing," she began to apologise to him.

"Which is why you didn't tell me before that you knew anything," Sebastian finished for her. "I'm not angry at that, so don't apologise for it. You believed you were helping him."

"And now," Hawke added, looking back at him. "Now I'm not so sure. Between shattering my father's staff—which must have been no easy thing—and those strange ingredients, and wanting to be snuck into the Chantry…"

"I like those things not," Sebastian said darkly.

"Nor I, Sebastian." She met his gaze. "Nor I."

Moments of silence and sips of wine passed between them as each fell into their own thoughts.

"What are we going to do about the mage and templar conflict? It's getting worse and worse every day," Sebastian said after a while. He stood, walked over to a side table to refill his wine.

"Why does it fall to me to solve it in the first place?" Hawke asked instead. "I'm not a native to this city at all. How did it become my responsibility?"

"Because," Sebastian replied as he went back to his seat, "you saved the city. You defeated the Arishok, you got the Qunari to leave. Despite what nationality you are, you command a great deal of respect and the people look up to you." He sat back and rested the ankle of his boot on the opposite knee, looking at her over the rim of his glass. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't been asked to be viscount yet."

Her laughter rang out in the room, and it was good to hear it, even if it was sarcastic. "You can't mean that. Stop teasing me, Sebastian."

His thoughts took a quick dive into a world where he lived to do nothing but tease her, tease things out of her, and the vision of them in Starkhaven came into his mind again, and he shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts.

"No, I'm being serious. Have you never considered it?"

A distant look came over her eyes, and he saw a bright spark of intrigue in them.

"Only in my wildest dreams… I don't think the Marchers of Kirkwall would want a Ferelden ruling them," Hawke replied, her voice at once sad and wistful.

A smile tugged Sebastian's lips, and he indulged in more wine before he answered.

"Perhaps. But they would probably welcome the Champion of Kirkwall."

Her own smile spread across her face as Hawke realised what exactly it was he implied.

"You are a crafty man, Sebastian Vael. Are you _sure_ you want to stay in the Chantry? It seems such a waste…" She trailed off, leaving him guessing what she thought the waste really was.

He chewed on the inside of his lip in thought, not saying anything immediately. His pause to answer made Hawke raise her brows.

"Or… maybe you don't?" she ventured.

"I have… much food for thought on the matter," Sebastian finally conceded. "There are many more factors to weigh than I originally thought."

The look she gave him made him wonder what sort of thoughts were running through her head, but Hawke did not voice any of them as she drank her wine.

"A excellent vintage, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Fenris?"

She smiled, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. He suddenly realised he had no idea how old she was.

"A gift for helping with Danarius, and being a decent friend and human being in general, I think." She noted his nearly empty glass with an inclination of her head "Care for more of my very fine wine?"

He shook his head. "Ah… I would love to, but I must get some sleep tonight. I need to talk to Rys in the morning and figure out what to do next." His mouth drew into a taught line in thought and he did not see the jealous shadow that fell over her face at the mention of the other woman. "She was extremely nervous when I left earlier; I hope she has settled in well enough."

"I'm sure she's just fine," Hawke said lightly, bringing her glass to her lips again.

Sebastian nodded, distractedly scratching at the rune on his chest. It ached mildly, now that his thoughts focused on it. Not exactly pain, this time, but a dull ache that did not seem like it was going away. He stood, fingering the stem of his glass, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Thank you for the wine, and the talk," he thanked her. "It was a pleasure as always." She stood as well, setting her glass on the table.

"Sebastian, you are always welcome in my home and to as much of my wine as you like." As close a look to shy as he had ever seen on her came over her face. "I… You always seem to talk me into a better mood no matter why I feel bad." She smiled at him, and he felt his insides melt just a little. "I always enjoy talking to you so much."

It took much of his willpower to not crush her mouth against his, so he returned her smile in kind instead. He did his best to dismiss any thought of ravishing her from his mind, but since the demon in the Harimann's estate had superimposed that vision of the two of them in Starkhaven together, in his bed together… It made him flush to think of it, but not from any sense of embarrassment. No colour rose in his cheeks, and he swallowed to erase the images from his mind.

"As do I, Hawke, as do I." He settled for taking her hand and brushing his lips over her knuckles. He swore he heard her breath catch a little, and when he looked at her face, it was rosey as she stared at him. He had never done such a thing before, and he knew it surprised her. "I certainly do hope pleasant dreams find you tonight," he told her, voice just above a rumble in his chest, not releasing her hand quite yet. "Maker watch over you." He gave her hand a light squeeze before letting it go.

"Ah—same to you, Sebastian," she said, albeit a bit haltingly. He liked that she was still flustered from a simple ghost of a kiss across the back of her hand. He found himself thinking of what other reactions he could get from her if he were to do more.

He gave her a small, courtly bow before seeing himself out, smiling to himself as she just watched him go.

* * *

><p>He went searching for Rys the next morning, once again in the fighting leathers he had met her in, long sword on his hip. He kept the hood of his mantle up as he left the Chantry. It would be too risky for his true identity to meet with her inside the walls, so he had told her to meet him in a corner of a small courtyard in Hightown proper. When he got there, however, she was nowhere to be found. He waited after searching for her, thinking she might be running late, or that he was early, but after an hour, he began to worry. What if the Coterie—or worse, Merlynn—had found her? He was about to forgo disguises entirely and go back to the Chantry to ask around after her, when an odd bit of paper caught his eye. It had been tucked under a rock next to the leg of a stone bench, but the wind shifted and tugged at it. He went over and looked at it, finding it scrawled in a hasty and uneven hand.<p>

_Brand,_ it read. _I'm sorry I not here to tell you in person, but I can't. I can't stay in Kirkwall while _she_ is there. Coterie be damned, that Merlynn scares me. My rune, it keeps bothering me, and I keep thinking she's going to be right around the corner to snatch me up. So I had to leave. Find me beyond the range, where we once found ourselves. I'll wait for you there._

He rubbed his thumbs along the edges of the note, re-reading it. For a second, he wondered if Merlynn or the Coterie might have got her on her way out, but he immediately dismissed the notion. He knew she was safe and well on her way to that grove. Unsure of how he knew, he carefully folded the note and slipped it into his shirt. He really wished he would have had the chance to speak with her before she left Kirkwall, to at least try and plan something, but he understood. Sebastian had felt more on edge ever since he had returned, as if he were wasting time if he sat down for more than a few moments. It was more than just restlessness, he could tell. Like Rys, he kept finding himself being cautious around areas he couldn't see all of, as if Merlynn herself would step out of some alleyway shadows. Fingers unconsciously found the rune on his chest, pressing into it. It was mildly warmer than the rest of his body and still had that dull ache to it. Thinking about it made him more restless, so he walked back to the Chantry to change and busy himself until he could figure out the next step. Sebastian didn't want to wait to act, but he supposed he would have to, with Varric and the others wanting to gather more information.

After changing into a simple shirt and breeches, Sebastian volunteered himself to help clean the main sitting area of the Chantry, allowing his mind to become a blank state as he put himself into the cleaning. It was an unusual sight—normally he would lead vespers, or speak quietly with the constant trickle of visitors, or even help copy manuscripts, but today he needed mindless physical work. As he cleaned, so too he felt he helped clean his soul and mind some. It felt good. Every time he felt his mind start to drift, he scanned the floor and pews for a spot he was sure to have missed. All the sisters who walked by commented on how unusually diligent he worked, and he smiled at them as they passed. He knew they wanted more, an explanation or elaboration, but he gave nothing but his thanks.

When he was finished, he went to wash himself clean. The cool water was a shock, but a welcome one. He was calmed, and felt less like the shadows would jump out to nab him. He also was careful to enter the washing room when it was empty, and though he would have liked to linger, he only stayed long enough to clean himself brusquely. The rune on his chest glared up at him the entire time he was stripped bare, and he thanked the Maker no one chose to enter while he was washing. Back in his dormitory, he dressed in his family's mail and armour, comforted by the familiar scents and weight. Sliding his hands along the smooth wood of his grandfather's bow, Sebastian went to his small corner of the Chantry gardens to empty his quiver several times.

Days went by like that. Varric didn't turn up with much else that Sebastian didn't already know about Merlynn, and neither Merrill nor Anders could decipher anything about the symbols he had seen. Granted, the latter was also highly distracted by his involvement with the mages of Kirkwall—they all were increasingly distracted by the hostilities. Sebastian felt the strain even in the Chantry, as people came in to voice their worries to lay brothers or sisters, or to pray for a peaceful solution. Some were vehemently one way or another, but the vast majority of people were tired of the constant tension, the constant bickering of two of the most powerful people in the city. A name he heard more often than not was Hawke's. It was after a few days of listening to the common folk that he decided to go to her.

He had not really seen her since their last talk in her library over a week ago, but he had stayed mostly within the Chantry walls, and he assumed she was dealing with Anders. His mouth drew into a tight line at the thought. He had acted perhaps a bit too forward with her last time, especially considering the nature of her relationship with Anders. It wasn't that he intended to apologise for his actions, but rather he would remind himself to keep a tighter reign on them. Until, he abruptly decided, until she gave him leave otherwise. The thought of openly courting Hawke, should he even have the chance, settled in his mind, and he rolled it around a little, testing out how it felt, how it sounded. He felt no guilt, no apprehension, and finally allowed himself to think it just might be the thing for him to do. Six years of hidden longing, awkward silences, and conversations with underlying desires could all be put behind him now. He was the Prince of Starkhaven, and would rule with the calm and compassion the Chantry taught him, but he would no longer let it rule him. Silently, he sent a prayer of thanks to the Maker that he had Elthina to force wisdom upon his oftentimes-thick skull. He would have to remember to thank her.

As Sebastian neared Hawke's estate, he thought he heard muffled shouting. He jogged the rest of the way to the building, then slowed his steps to skulk along the side wall the short distance to the door. He could hear voices inside, angry and demanding, and for a moment he worried she was being accosted. Then, he remembered who Hawke was and what he had personally seen her capable of, and realised she and Anders were fighting again. Part of him said to leave well enough alone and come back later, but another part of him wanted to hear what was going on. He worried for Hawke, especially after how a nervousness came over her sometimes when they spoke of Anders, Justice, and his temper. He slowly opened the lock and eased the front door open with one hand. He didn't open it far, just enough so he could hear more clearly. Sebastian told himself he didn't want to listen, he just wanted to confirm it was Anders and not someone she needed help dealing with. The words were still unclear, but he now could identify the apostate's distinct voice. It proved to be too much. His curiosity and concern could be quelled no longer, despite himself. Silently, he slipped in. The venom he heard in Anders' tone even at a distance worried him, and he wanted to be close to Hawke if Justice or Vengeance overtook the mage's actions. The part of him that wanted to hear their words grew even more, so he stole closer to their voices, hiding himself in the dark corner before the receiving room doorway behind a tree-like plant Hawke kept there. He could hear them clearly now, and supposed they were either in her library or at the top of the stairs.

"I'm no longer sure where your loyalties lie, Hawke," Anders was saying. "Once, I did, but I think you might be starting to side against me."

The indignation in Hawke's reply was clear as daylight. "I am _not_ choosing one friend over another. I back whomever is less likely to explode in violence that would tear this city and its people apart. If you hadn't noticed, Anders," she went on, now cold as ice, "I have refused to back either Meredith _or_ Orsino. One is not more right or wrong than the other, and I truly believe there is a way for everyone to live without killing each other. _If_ I can get them to shut up long enough about who's wronging who to have a civil conversation."

"How can you keep on saying that when you've seen for yourself what being made Tranquil does to us?" Anders exclaimed.

"I also have seen for myself what a delusional mage can do when he consorts with demons." Hawke's words were deadly quiet, and Sebastian instantly knew she referred to the mage who had skilled, dismembered, and then subsequently pieced together her mother with other women to try and recreate his own dead lover. Anders had not been there, and he didn't make the connection.

"Not all mages fall to such behaviour—look at me. I have been living with Justice for years, now, and—"

"Oh, _yes_, Anders. You're a shining example of what a mage should be. I know not all mages are bad, and not all templars are good. I'm talking about my _mother_ and what that horrific example of a mage did to her and those women, you insufferable man," she snapped. "Or would it be safer to assume you've been so wrapped up in waging war against _everyone_ that you _don't_ remember me sobbing myself to sleep for weeks after? Or how everyone else came to pay their respects and grieve with me?" Sebastian felt a pang of regret that he did not visit her personally during that, but he did not know her well at the time, and feared he might cross boundaries if he had. What he heard under the anger in her voice told him she was nowhere near over it, however, and he could only imagine the look of dismay on Anders' face under her onslaught. "Do you even remember the wake I held for her? No, I know you don't. Either that or the conscious memory of it is so buried under everything _else_ to do with mages and your utter hatred of the templars and Meredith that you can't even grasp at it anymore." Her voiced hitched. "No one, _no one person_ should ever have that much control over another person's life," she said, almost inaudibly.

He heard Anders fumble to try and find words for something adequate to say. "I—I _do_ remember, Hawke, truly…"

"Except it doesn't even matter." She was bitter and full of hurt. Even if he didn't like to admit it, Sebastian knew Hawke did care about Anders. "I can see that so clearly now. Nothing has ever mattered so much to you than what everyone else things of mages, and how they treat them. You ignore the fact that there _are_ people—_templars_—out there who don't want the Rite of Annulment enacted, who are against making a mage Tranquil, save as a last desperate resort. We've _met_ them, helped them help mages, even. Yet you still refuse to see. Sebastian and Varric were right." Her voice caught again even as he felt his heart leapt to his throat at the mention of his name.

"Sebastian." His name came flat and unfriendly from the mage. "What, exactly, was he right about?"

"You won't hesitate for a moment to step right over my corpse if I stand in your way." There was silence after. She sneered the next words. "Sometimes I wonder if you still would have wanted to be with me if I didn't have the reputation and connections that I do."

Both Sebastian and Anders sucked in a breath.

"I _let_ myself love you against my better judgement, Hawke, because I thought you were worth it even though I told you I'd end up hurting you. I thought you felt the same."

"I stopped feeling the same the moment I realised you were betraying me."

"_Betray_ you? I thought of all people to stand beside me, _you_ would be the one!"

Hawke sounded tired when she spoke. "Not any longer, Anders. I'm sick of you trying to vie for my affections for your own purposes. I'm sick of you using my trust and my connections for your own purposes. I want _peace_," she almost implored. "No more bloodshed over this. The city is about the explode and I'm trying everything I can do to prevent that, to make Meredith _and_ Orsino see compromise."

"Hawke," Anders said so softly Sebastian could barely make it out. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm trying for peace, and you're trying for as much instigation as you can. I'm saying you and I will not see eye to eye on this, ever. I'm saying… we should no longer share the same bed."

Sebastian tensed, ready for the explosion of anger and magic, but it never came. The mage's voice came instead, strangely subdued and resigned.

"I should have seen this coming. I should have known this was coming. We've been growing apart a while now, and I would blame myself for it, were it not for the way I see you look at _him_, and he _you_," he said. Sebastian's jaw clenched at the accusation, no matter how true it might have been.

"Anders, this isn't about—"

"It doesn't matter what it's really about, does it? It's over and done with, thank you for your time, but get out now," the apostate said quickly, bitterly. "Don't worry, I'll be out of here soon enough."

Sebastian quickly stole back to the front door and slipped out before he was discovered. Ominous clouds had crept into the sky while he was inside, and it threatened to rain. He could taste it in the air. He still wanted to speak with Hawke, but he didn't want to go inside, announced, wile Anders was still there. Especially not when Anders might now attribute Sebastian to Hawke telling him to leave. He was about to wander off for a short walk to give her space and collect his thoughts again when Anders burst out the door, looking more worse for the wear than Sebastian had ever seen the mage. The archer tired to remain inconspicuous, to keep his walk calm, but Anders caught sight of him anyway.

The mage glared at him. "I should strike you down where you stand."

Sebastian met his gaze evenly. "I can't stop you."

With a sound more growl than language, Anders whirled and stormed off, presumably to his clinic in Darktown.

Before the mage was even out of sight, Sebastian was through Hawke's door again, striding directly though this time.

He found her sitting at the top of the stairs, staring into nothing. Her face was dry, but devoid of anything. Her mabari sat at the bottom, looking up at her and whining, though she either did not hear him or chose to ignore him.

"Hawke?" Sebastian ventured. Faolan peered over his shoulder at him, but did not move from his spot.

"Not now," Hawke mumbled, but he pretended he didn't hear her.

"I need to speak with you," he went on, walking closer and keeping to one side of the stairs in order to step around the mabari.

"Did you not hear me the first time? I said not now!" Hawke snapped, Faolan giving Sebastian a warning growl as the tall man tried to go around him. The mabari got to his feet, ears back and tail straight. Sebastian put out his hand to calm the dog, though he knew he would only leave off or attack at Hawke's command.

"No, Hawke, now." He looked up at her, and his voice softened. "I saw Anders leave."

She looked at him, her eyes threatening to break. When she didn't say anything, he continued.

"I hate to say this, but I overheard the two of you arguing." Her eyes narrowed at him.

"And now you've come to gloat that you were right about him all along?" she asked bitterly. She didn't even comment on his implied eavesdropping; he supposed she didn't really care at that point.

"I've come to tell you, of anyone in this city, you _can_ make peace happen."

To his surprise, a chuckle came from her, and Hawke ruefully shook her head. "So you started listening all the way back then, huh? No," she said as he started to protest. "I can't blame you for it, not really. I would have done the same thing. Though I am a bit surprised it was _you_ who listened in, of everyone."

He pursed his lips. "It wasn't entirely intentional or devious," he said. "I didn't want you left alone to deal with that demon inside him, should he have lost control."

A smile twisted her features. "And the way you acted toward me the last time we spoke had nothing to do with it, I'm sure."

He frowned. It had, but he wasn't about to admit it. "Hawke, that's not the reason I came here. Nor will I bring up the subject until a more fitting time—"

"That's assuming I even want you to bring it up, Sebastian Vael." Her words were sharp and they stung him. He fought the urge to snap back at her. Despite her words, he felt sure she would want him to do so in the future. He knew she was wound up by the argument from Anders, and still wanted to fight.

"I did not come here to argue, Hawke," he said, unwilling to let her phase him. "I'm here to support you, to encourage you to restore more than a shaky truce to this city."

"What's your price for helping me?" she asked suspiciously.

His smile was easy, meant to be reassuring. "Hawke, how many years have you know me now? My price is to see you happy." He shook his head. "Maker knows ruling a city in the Free Marches can be anything but easy, but I truly believe you can bring compromise and peace." He held her eyes with his own. "I know that will help ease the stress on your heart and the strain on your conscience. It may not…" He had to say the words, he knew, but he did not like saying them, even if they were to comfort her. "It may not ease the hurt from Anders, but know that you have my support, if nothing else."

For a while he stood, the subject of her scrutiny—and of Faolan's full attention—until she let out a sigh that sagged her shoulders.

"How do you believe in me so much?"

This time, his smile was pure, genuine and not aimed to put her at ease. Faolan relaxed and sat on his haunches as Sebastian held out a hand, beckoning her to join him at the foot of the stairs. Slowly, Hawke rose and came down, taking his outstretched hand with her own. He rubbed a thumb across the back of her hand to bring life back into the cold extremity as he led her to the library.

"I believe in you because of who you are. You're just you, and no one else could do it better."

A wan smile began on her lips. "I should hope not," she said almost lightly. Hawke stared into the coals as she sat before the fire, which he stoked after releasing her hand. It was warm out, though the rain began to patter on the large windows of her estate, and he did not want any sort of dampness sneaking in.

"Why do we always seem to end up in my library?"

"It's comforting to be surrounded by books, and it's away from the rest of the house," he supplied, not taking his eyes from tending the fire. "And it's the only room with seating for more than one."

"Good point. I guess… I just don't entertain enough to have chairs. Too busy trying to save the city."

At the embittered tone of her words, Sebastian rocked to his feet and turned to her. "Can I fetch you anything? A cup of tea? Something to eat?"

"How about a shot of something hard and terrible for me?"

He smiled. "Tea it is, then." Without allowing her another comment, he walked out of the library toward the kitchens. He never had much occasion to explore Hawke's estate, and so got turned around twice before he reached his goal. The two dwarves and Orana crowded inside, all looking greatly worried. Bodahn started when Sebastian came through the door.

"Messere Vael!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Is m'lady all right? We… we heard lots of shouting between her and serah Anders, and, well…" The dwarf paused, glanced around. "We didn't think he'd _mean_ to hurt m'lady, but…"

Sebastian shook his head. "He didn't. Not physically, anyway. Just her heart and pride. I was getting her a cup of tea, to ease the cracks in her heart. And," he added conspiratorially, "I'm trying to convince her what a good viscountess she would make."

Bodahn twisted his beard. "Not a bad idea at all, messere Vael."

Orana brought him a kettle and two cups with cages of tea leaves inside. She kept her eyes downcast as she handed them to Sebastian while Bodahn spoke.

"There's a hook by the fireplace in the library to hang the kettle." The imploring look the older dwarf gave him tugged at his heartstrings. "Messere Vael... We care greatly about her," he began. The archer cut him off with a warm smile.

"Don't worry yourselves. I'll take good care of her, I promise." He wouldn't leave her torn and shaking like Anders did. He might have hurt her by denying them both, but he would never tear her apart inside.

Sebastian thanked him and went back to Hawke, who sat with her head against the chair, eyes closed. She didn't stir as he went about setting up the kettle, trying to be quiet as he could, in case she had fallen asleep. Faolan had placed himself at his mistress's feet, and didn't even lift his head when Sebastian came back.

"Why are you doing all this for me?"

Hawke's voice startled him, and he nearly swung the kettle all the way into the fire.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"A whole host of reasons." When he glanced back at her, her eyes were open, watching him. "You know," she continued. "You never used to visit me here. I always had to seek you out in the Chantry. What changed?"

Hawke threatened to drag him full-force onto treacherous ground he did not want to cross just yet. He chose his words cautiously, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to tell the whole truth. Sitting back on his heels, he felt the heat of the fire on one side, and the heat of her gaze on the other.

"Because, for as much as your friends care for you, none of them seem to step up to the task."

Her gaze hardened instantly, and she went on the defensive.

"Now, wait a minute—"

He raised a hand to halt her speech. "I'm not trying to insult them. Many of them I consider friends as well. But they all have matters distracting them."

"And you don't." It was almost a question, he was sure.

Sebastian smiled at her, unwavering. "My matters, right now, are all here in this room."

Hawke was silent as she watched him; she reminded him of an animal long abused finally shown kindness and not sure quite how to take it.

"Hawke, I'm here because I want to be. I'm here because I believe in you, and I believe you are the brightest hope for a city plunged into the dark of madness."

The teakettle behind him whistled, and he turned to attend it and pour her a cup of tea, saving her, for the moment, the requirement of response to his words. In truth, he wasn't really looking for one. When he brought the cup to her, her expression was unreadable, aside from perhaps contemplative. He poured himself a cup as well, and settled on an ottoman by the empty chair.

"You really think I would make a good ruler?" she asked, staring into her steaming drink.

"I really do. Look at what you've done with the lot of us. A dwarf, a pirate, two mages—one a Dalish elf and a blood mage, to boot—the captain of the guard, a former Tevinter slave, and a—" He hesitated only a moment when he tried to think of the best way to describe himself. "A man who's been in the Chantry for the past decade. Do you know anyone else that could bring us together like you have?" He shook his head and decidedly ignored the questioning look that she gave him as he listed himself not as a 'brother of the Chantry', but as someone much more ambiguous. "We may not always all get along with one another, but we all are held together by one person—you. We all follow you for different reasons, but one factor always remains the same—_you_." Sebastian leaned forward, intense. "Hawke, the reason I came here was to tell you that your name is on the lips of every other person in the city, and I'm certain you're on every mind. Elthina… she can only do so much as mediator. Neither Orsino nor Meredith will back down. Don't you think it's time someone with sway, with pull and favour, someone the common man and the nobleman alike can clamour to, to step up and stand for the good of the city?" He knew his eyes were fierce, his voice thick, but he couldn't stop himself.

Hawke bit her lip around a small smile. "When you say it like that… The way you believe it… It almost makes me think I _could_ do it…"

In an instant, he was kneeling in front of her as she sat, staring down at him, startled. He took her hand in his two, clasping them around hers, and looked directly into her eyes, blue on blue, unrelenting sea to slowly melting ice.

"You _can_. You know you can, too, I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You're just afraid to admit it. Know that you will forever and always have my support, my strength, my favour…" He was beginning to babble, and cut himself off. "Anything you need of me or want of me, it is yours, so long as I am able to give it."

And, with that, he realised he had fully given himself to her. He could no longer go back to the Chantry to renew his vows because in that instant, his heart and mind made themselves up before he could think to stop his tongue. He was unsure if Hawke realised what he had just done, and her face betrayed nothing but a light flush. That could just as easily be from the fire as much at the heat of his words.

What she said next caught him off guard. "You speak much of Kirkwall, Sebastian Vael, but have you given as much thought to Starkhaven?"

She could see right through him. He took a few moments to answer, his eyes searching her face. "My cousin is a nice enough man, but he does not have the steel in him that it takes to rule effectively. I doubted myself for a long while, thought I might've wanted to take back Starkhaven for my own personal reasons." His voice grew pained as memories resurfaced. "Because I could never live up to my brother, and now I finally had my chance to prove myself. But, selfishness is no reason to rule."

Hawke nodded. "We encountered that problem in Ferelden," she said. "Do you still believe you only wish to rule Starkhaven because of a lust for power? To somehow show your brother up?" She quirked an eyebrow. "Or," she added before he could say anything, protest or otherwise, "do you finally realise it's a sense of duty that keeps pulling you back home? That it's in your blood to rule, being a younger son be damned?"

He regarded her a moment longer, a bemused look on his face, then shifted to the ottoman, releasing her hand as he went. Laughter erupted out of him and she looked at him as if he had grown another head from his shoulders.

"Forgive me," he said, still chuckling. "But I believe we both just attempted to talk the other into ruling a city."

At his explanation, a smile spread across her face. "I do believe we did. But whose argument will reach through, I wonder?"

Sebastian caught her eye again, even as he paused to sip at his cooling tea.

"Hopefully both."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Filler, relationship movement, and an excuse to write more dialogue.**

**Those of you re-reading might not have noticed this little tidbit, but I altered a sentence to state that Sebastian had altered his family crest and taken another as his own. There is a reason for this that I plan on explaining in another story. Also because I can't for the life of me find an "official" Vael crest, but there's actually good reason Sebastian would take an altered one himself rather than merely keeping his family's.  
><strong>

**As always, feedback, comments, questions, reviews-all that shebang-are a great part of what keeps me writing and posting on here! Thank you, constant followers, and especially thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far-melgonzo, fifespice, Aaliia, stoobzzwife, and Razzika. I absolutely adore seeing your comments in my inbox. This has been going better than I expected and it's gotten a thousand times more attention that I could have hoped for, and there's still a lot further for it to go. Thank you all for tagging along to find out where it's going!**


	8. Abomination

**Chapter Eight: Abomination**

Anders had vanished off the map. Even the dwarf's sources lost track of him, and none of his helpers in the clinic had seen him for days. Life in Kirkwall hadn't stopped, but no tension had been relieved, either. The skies themselves stayed overcast and pregnant with the threat of storms for days, though as of yet none had been unleashed.

Sebastian's rune ached constantly, and he finally convinced himself to poke around the docks where Merlynn's warehouse was, making sure to take others with him. He had gone during the day, but found everything locked. When he took them there that night, the doors were flung wide open and the vast complex of rooms and hallways were all empty. The only things that remained to prove his tale true were the dial, and the all-but scraped off remains of the two symbols he had seen. Someone had tried to erase Merlynn's entire presence from there, but had to either stop short, or hadn't done as good a job as they thought. Merrill cast a spell on the room with the dais, over the symbol that was on the floor, and told them there was magic that had been used there, and while it was similar to blood magic, it felt far more ancient. Her worry only added to Sebastian's increasing restlessness. His dreams were filled with fire, blood, and shadows. Not a night passed where he didn't awaken from one of those nightmares. Always he died in his own blood, always the shadow that mirrored him but wasn't his own died with him, always he reached for the long-haired woman and her blades to seek rescue from the encroaching flames. And every time he woke, his rune burned.

Far from consoling him, Merlynn's disappearance from Kirkwall gave him greater anxiety. The only place he could think of for her to go would be to Starkhaven. That was where all the _craennerta_ were, and that was where the colossus was. If, in fact, she were seriously attempting to reawaken it. Starkhaven was a two-week march from Kirkwall, though with as many followers as she had, it would take them longer. He had discovered her warehouse abandoned two days prior, so there was still time until she reached his home—precious little time, but it was still something. He could not race off to Starkhaven, however, not when things remained as tense as they were in Kirkwall. Nor could he spare the days to seek out Rys—that would be eight days before he set foot in the city again. Both Hawke and Elthina needed him here.

Sebastian had spoken with Elthina about Hawke and his decision to take back Starkhaven, and she had smiled and given him her blessing, as she said she would. She had told him she didn't think there was much else help she could offer, and he had told her that her constant wisdom was more than enough. All the talks they had late into the night over the years about his frustrations, his doubts, his worries that she had patiently listened to or stopped him from worrying quite so much over were boons more than he could ever repay. Instead, he had vowed to her that he would ever be the Chantry's most stalwart friend, and would stay in Kirkwall to protect her until the contentions between Orsino and Meredith were resolved. He owed her and the Chantry that much.

But, now that he feared Merlynn was on her way to Starkhaven, he grew impatient to set out himself. Sebastian _needed_ to find out how the _craennerta_ his family had guarded for so long in secret had slipped out of their vaults. He wondered if Lady Harimann and his cousin had anything to do with it, and decided they didn't. Goren wasn't clever enough to find them on his own, let alone know what to do with them, and Lady Harimann had been too focused on the power alone—why would she want to destroy that which she coveted? And the question that kept ringing in his ears: why did Harres Merlynn even want to awaken the colossus?

Sebastian shook his head of such thoughts as he made his way to the Hanged Man to meet with Hawke and a few others. It mattered more right now just to stop Merlynn from doing whatever she was really planning than to question her motives. He almost wished _something_ would come to a head in the city so they would fix it, deal with the immediate consequence, and then he could focus on stopping Merlynn. The Starkhaven native could almost feel time slipping through his fingers day after day.

A low growl escaped him as he fought to quell his thoughts. He couldn't do anything about it right now, and it would not help to dwell on it when there were still pressing matters in Kirkwall.

Voices ahead of him lifted in shout, and his first thought was that Anders had reappeared to fight with Hawke again, so he quickened his pace to a jog. As he rounded the corner and started down the steps from Hightown to Lowtown, however, he could clearly see now that it was Orsino and Meredith arguing, with Hawke trying to calm them both. Merrill, Varric, and Fenris stood by Hawke, unable to do much but watch. Sebastian stopped beside Fenris, who exchanged looks with him. That did not bode well.

Hawke tried to pacify the anger of both the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander, while staying the middle ground, and even seemed to be slowly making headway when Anders, dressed all in black, slowly stepped into view of the gathered people.

"The time for compromise has ended," he said calmly, firmly. Though he spoke quietly, he drew all eyes and attention. Hawke opened her mouth to protest, when an earth-shattering explosion shook the ground they stood on, and all looked as one to Hightown, where plumes of smoke and flying debris were dominating the sky. Sebastian could hear screams, and when he did a little calculation to try to figure the location… No… he couldn't be right—

"Was _that_ your plan, Anders?" Hawke's voice was deadly quiet, a viper singling out her prey from the rushes. "Was _that_ why you collected all those odd ingredients, why you had me sneak into the Chantry?"

"I'm sorry," he said, but it was difficult to tell if he truly meant it. "But it had to be done. Now there can be no compromise. Now something _has_ to be done."

"Compromising _is_ getting something done, you unbearable fool!" Hawke shouted. "All the work of seven long years to bring peace between templar and mage here, and you just destroyed it all with one fell swoop dealt needlessly upon innocent lives! _What is wrong with you_?"

Anders was strangely compliant, strangely calm.

"Do what you will. It is done, and cannot be otherwise." He sat down on a crate, not looking at any of them. "If you cut me down, at least I will be martyred for my people."

They all just started at him, aghast—even Meredith was struck speechless for once. Words, harsh, unrelenting words, cut through the red haze of Sebastian's vision, and it dawned on him that he was the one talking.

"Hawke," he snarled. "He must pay for this. So many innocent lives just… _destroyed_." His rage focused on Anders. "He must die."

"A life for a life, Sebastian?" Merrill's question surprised him.

"One life for _hundreds_ of lives," he replied. "The Grand Cleric was in there, holding afternoon vespers. Who knows how many were there with her." The full weight of what he said hit the pit of his stomach like a stone. "_The Grand Cleric…_"

He let rage take over so he could still function, then looked back at Hawke, who now stared at Anders in horror - Anders, who silently and calmly awaited his fate. She was still angry, he could see, but pain flickered across her features, and tears slowly trailed down her cheeks.

"Does everyone agree?" she asked quietly. "Varric?"

"That… that was uncalled for. Entirely. There are plenty of other ways to make a point that _don't_ involve blowing up innocent people," the dwarf said, not taking his eyes from Anders. His expression was hard, no mirth or joke hidden in it.

"Fenris?"

"Something that should have been done a long time ago," the elf growled, hand twitching and no doubt itching to be around the hilt of his sword.

Hawke nodded numbly, and drew out a small dagger. She walked to Anders as they all looked on, and he finally glanced up at her as she stood over him.

"Of all people," he told her, "I'm glad you're the one to do it."

She shook. Sebastian could see it. Her entire body convulsed and she dropped her dagger, falling to her knees. Helpless, she looked back at Sebastian.

"I—I—" she stammered. "I _can't_…"

"Can't? Or won't?" He was more accusatory than he should have been.

"_Please_… I know it… you can… I just, I _can't_." She shook harder and buried her face in her hands.

That was all he needed. He understood her plea, and he was more than willing to oblige. His own, deadly curved blade was in his hand without thought and he approached Anders with bloodlust in his eyes. Roughly, he grabbed the mage's ponytail and jerked his head back, leaning in close to his ear.

"This is for them," Sebastian told only Anders through his teeth. "For Elthina, for the innocents, for all the people who tried to help your mages—_your people_—but most of all, this is for hurting Hawke."

Even Anders's eyes widened at his words. His blade slid like silk across the apostate's bared throat and opened it. Lifeblood poured forth as Sebastian let go and Anders crumpled to the ground, blood quickly pooling around his head.

"Quicker than he deserved," Fenris said. Sebastian wasn't a torturer, but he was full of enough pain and fury to agree with his friend.

Sebastian was dimly aware of Merrill helping Hawke to her feet, of Varric saying comforting words to strengthen her again. All he could hear echoing in his mind were the screams of the Chantry and he wondered if any of them had been the Grand Cleric's. He turned from Anders's body and dropped to his knees, facing what was once the Chantry, those who were once the people who had sheltered him and helped him find peace within himself, and the Chant of the Light poured softly from his lips. When he had exhausted that, old words, old benedictions the Vaels once said before funeral pyres came. His grandfather had been a man devout to the Maker, there was no doubt about that, but he hadn't forgotten the old respects. Tears ran freely and unnoticed down his cheeks, tracking clean lines through the dirt on his face, and it was only a hand on his shoulder that brought him back. He glanced behind to see Varric, almost face to face with him. The dwarf's expression was wrought with pain and concern.

"I'm sorry," was all he said, and Sebastian nodded. The archer looked beyond him to Hawke, who seemed to be pulling herself together.

Sebastian stood and wiped his face, the numbness settling over him like a heavy cloak. He and Varric joined Hawke and Merrill, who were being addressed by Meredith.

"Champion, whom do you support? Surely you cannot condone this mage's actions," the Knight-Commander was saying.

Orsino interjected before Hawke could answer.

"And at the same time, you have to know that he worked apart from the Circle, and we had no knowledge, nor anything to do with what he did."

Sebastian watched as Hawke looked from one to another, the pain raw and clearly writ across her face. His lip curled in a sneer of derision. How could they still be jockeying for her support? Part of the city was just destroyed—good, selfless people were just murdered—and all they could think about was where they could lay the most blame? He could not still his tongue.

"How can you both be asking her that after what just happened?" he demanded, drawing surprised looks from everyone. Normally, he was one to keep his council and let Hawke handle negotiations, as he didn't always feel it was his place to step in, and he trusted her judgement even when he didn't agree with it. He spoke now out of outrage.

"I think this is the perfect time to ask her who she supports after a _mage_ just destroyed our Chantry," Meredith said calmly. It infuriated him further.

"_Now_ is the time to pull together to attend to this travesty. _Now_ is the time to mourn those lost and try to mend what has been broken. _Now_ is most certainly _not_ the time to rip what is left apart!"

Orsino nodded the tiniest bit, but Meredith appraised Sebastian as she might a beast of burden.

"Your heart in the matter is commendable. But perhaps you should let your Champion speak for herself when she is addressed." And, with that easy dismissal, the Knight-Commander turned to Hawke again, awaiting a decision.

She took her time in answering, and at her hesitation, Meredith spoke up once again.

"The only thing that mage got right was the fact that now, there can be no compromises. I will enact the Right of Annulment and deal with every mage in this city. The people will demand retribution, and I will not deny them."

"You cannot stand with her on this," Orsino implored. "All mages should not be punished for the acts of one lone mage."

Hawke looked back at her companions, but she knew she was alone in this decision. She held Sebastian's eyes the longest, and last of all, and he wished he could say more, wished he could stand by her the way he wanted. He tried to silently impart to her his support and he hoped she got it from his expression.

Drawing in then releasing a breath that sounded as if the weight of the world rested upon her slender shoulders, Hawke spoke.

"Allow me to make it perfectly clear that I do not agree with the extreme measures the Knight-Commander takes, and while I whole-heartedly believe there is good in mages, I cannot ignore the fact that there have been more mages resorting to blood magic than not as of late." Hawke gave Orsino a sympathetic look as his face crumbled. "I will give quarter to mages who surrender and do not resort to blood magic, but I must take what I feel to be the lesser of two evils, in the long run." It was evident the decision pained her—she would be going against her own sister.

Meredith's face lit up triumphantly, and the First Enchanter's hardened.

"Very well. Champion, I understand your decision, but make no mistake that we will fight for our lives and our rights every step of the way."

A wan smiled pulled at Hawke's lips. "I would expect no less, First Enchanter."

Meredith and Orsino both left to rally their own people, leaving Hawke and her companions standing in front of the Hanged Man. Hawke bit her lip, then turned to Merrill, who was looking very worried.

"Hawke, I—"

Maebh lifted a hand. "I'm sorry, Merrill. I… I had to make a choice."

The Dalish elf nodded. "Does this mean you're going to turn me in, now?"

Hawke was aghast. "What? No! No, I would never do that. You're my _friend_, Merrill."

Fenris scowled as Merrill replied, "Your friend, who's also a blood mage."

"But, you're not crazy. Or evil. Just really awkward and bad with directions." Hawke smiled.

Hawke would hear no more arguments from anyone as they set out through the streets to the Gallows. Fiery debris lay everywhere, and mages fought against templars around nearly every corner. They battled every step of the way, bone-weary and aching by the time they set foot on the ferry between Lowtown and the Gallows. It gave them a moment's respite. Varric sat with Merrill, murmuring something quietly to her, but the rest of them stood in silence, all eyes trained on their nearing destination. Hawke didn't even bother to wipe the blood from her armour, though she did briefly clean her face. Sebastian distractedly fussed with the fletching of arrows that were perfectly fine, trying to keep his thoughts from resting too long on any one subject.

As soon as they landed, they all sprung to their feet and leapt from ferry to shore, only to stop dead in front of Orsino and Meredith again. She gave him the chance to gather all his mages and hole up within the Gallows. Sebastian glanced at Hawke, whose face was pained, but mostly unreadable other than that. She was even more guarded than usual, especially upon seeing her sister with Orsino. Sebastian sincerely hoped it would not come down to the two sisters having to fight one another; he did not wish to see any more innocent blood spilt, but Meredith was intent upon setting the Champion and her companions against what was left of the Kirkwall Circle of Mages, and Hawke had to do it for the city. Sebastian himself was now sure of the Knight-Commander's insanity, but could find no explanation for it. He was so lost within his thoughts, he didn't realise Hawke stood before him, speaking, until she reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Sebastian," Hawke said. "Thank you. Thank you for standing next to me when at any time you could have left and stayed in the Chantry, or left to help your own home." She looked as if she were going to say more, but Sebastian grabbed her arms and pulled her into a fierce embrace. He didn't care what the others thought, as he felt all their eyes on him. None of that mattered.

"Don't talk as if this is your last stand," he whispered vehemently in her ear. "It isn't. We're all here for you. _I'm_ here for you."

She gripped his shoulder plates as if she would float away were she to let go, and he enjoyed a moment out of time as she rested her forehead against his armour, but it was over in an instant, and she drew back. She bit her lip and tried to smile at him.

"It can't be," she said lightly. "We've still got Merlynn and your colossus to deal with."

"Aye," he said dryly. "We've got to live so we can die stopping them."

She reached out and fondly brushed a hand over his arm before turning to the others again.

"We're all ready? Good. Let's get this over with, then."

* * *

><p>Sebastian stared at his hands as if they were the only things that could keep him sane. His mind reeled, trying to wrap itself around the events of the last few hours. Orsino was dead. Turned blood mage, turned horrific abomination beyond anything he'd witnessed before. Meredith was dead. Driven completely insane by her sword—the remnants of the idol Hawke and Varric had said the dwarf's brother stole while they were all in the Deep Roads. The idol had driven both Bertrand and Meredith beyond redemption of sanity. The storm had broken over Kirkwall, and nearly dashed them all against the rocks. But now, Cullen had stepped in as Knight-Commander in Meredith's place, and the templars bent their knees to Hawke. Bethany was still alive, and Hawke intended to help her rebuild the Circle—better, safer. So much had fallen, been burnt to cinders. He just hoped it would be a cleansing fire, and not the kind that consumed his dreams.<p>

They had sectioned off the area surrounding what was once the Chantry, and those left alive were planning a mournful vigil to last throughout the night for those who had been killed. The sun sets on one epoch, Sebastian thought grimly as he watched the ball of fire dip below the building tops, and will rise again in a new one. The sun will always rise, the Maker will always watch over you. He turned to look at the Chantry ruins, a chill sweeping over him despite the summer's heat, and ashes fell from the sky in a macabre snowfall. The Maker will always watch over you. That was what Elthina had taught him.

"He may watch you," Sebastian said out loud. "But that doesn't mean he'll do anything." His thoughts went to Rys and the story she told him of her father, how the man believed without a doubt that the Maker and His Bride had saved him from his fever. But then, why not save Elthina? Why let all those innocents within the Chantry walls die? He shook his head, unshed tears in his eyes, tightness in his throat.

"It makes you wonder," Hawke said softly behind him. "If He really does know how it all will go, or if He's just going along with things like the rest of us."

He didn't respond—couldn't find his voice or the words to respond—and she seemed fine with his silence. After a while standing there together, he drew in a breath, gathering himself.

"I cannot linger here," he stated. "Tomorrow's first light, I must be on my way to meet Rys."

"Not going to stand vigil?" She shot him a surprised glance.

He shook his head. "I can't—" was all he managed to get out.

"It's hard," she said, soft again. "You just keep thinking there should have been something more you could have done to save them. That you should have known, somehow, that it would just all crumble and fall apart." Her voice cracked and gave out as she spoke, and Sebastian turned back to her, taking her in his arms. She shook silently.

"Anders?" he asked. She nodded. He rested his chin on the top of her head and held her. "You couldn't have known. You couldn't have stopped him had you known."

"I pushed him," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I pushed him away, Sebastian. If I had been paying closer attention, if I had tried harder, if I had been more—"

"_Hawke_. Do not blame yourself for his actions."

"I pushed him _away_," she repeated, drawing out of his arms. "We drifted apart. I stopped paying as much attention to him…"

He didn't want to hear any more. Not of that, not now. "Hawke, stop. Whatever path Anders chose to walk was his own, of his own doing. You were nothing but good for him—too good for him." He had to stop. Everything was too raw for him to remember to tread delicately with certain subjects, certain feelings.

Her eyes were downcast when he went to meet them. "How could I have been? If I had been too good for him, why did I drive him to such extremes?"

Sebastian stared at her. He had never seen her so dejected or self-deprecating before, not even when her mother was killed—and that had hit her hard. Without warning, his hand flashed out and he slapped her. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but sharp enough to get her to snap out of whatever thought she was lost in.

Hawke's hand flew to her cheek as she gaped at him.

"What in the corners of the Void was _that_ for?"

"Listen to yourself, Hawke. You're blaming yourself for something that's not your fault, and you're letting yourself slip into despair." His eyes hardened. "I won't let you do that. Not when there's still so much to be done. Not when—" This time, his voice broke. "Not when I have to keep going… You have to keep going, too. I need you to keep going with me."

Her eyes searched his face in silence for a few moments longer, until the hand held at her face fell to her side.

"Oh, Sebastian. You're right." Hands rubbed her face, fingers raked through her hair. "I just… I'm a bit ragged right now."

He gently touched her shoulder. "I think we're all a bit ragged, Hawke." The smile he offered her was wan, but at least he tried. "You're not alone in this. We will all help shoulder your hurts, just as you have ours."

Hawke smiled back at him, sadness still clinging in her eyes. "You always have the right words. Always. But… You won't be here."

His brows knit. "Hawke, I—"

"No, it's okay. I—I wish I could go with you." She averted her eyes from him. "But I can't. I have to stay here and clean up this mess."

He nodded, knowing. "I wish you could come with, too. There is no one I would rather have by my side."

At his words, Hawke looked up at him and opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped as distant shouting reached their ears. They both turned to see a small crowd of people gathering, staring right at them.

"I believe this is your adoring public, Hawke," Sebastian said to her. As if to prove his statement, a strained cheer went up as the people neared. It wasn't the most joyful of receptions, given the trials they had just gone though, the ruins of the Chantry they gathered around, but it was a relieved one. "I'll leave you to them," he murmured, turning to make his leave. Her hand gripped his arm, stopping him. A glance over his shoulder told him what he already knew.

"Please," Hawke said, soul bared in her eyes. "Stay with me."

He turned back, casting a sidelong glance to the crowd as he did so. They were staring at the two of them. Sebastian gave Hawke the widest grin he could muster.

"For as long as I can. For as long as you need me."

She nodded. "Until the night is over, then. I will not keep you in the morning," she told him as he drew near. "But you can stay the night with me, at least."

His heart leapt to his throat at her words, but he quelled them with the explanation that if she didn't offer him a place to sleep, he didn't really have anywhere else to go. Sebastian gave the hand still on his arm a squeeze, and then they turned to address the on-looking people.

The sun had long been set before Hawke and Sebastian reached her estate. Bodahn greeted them, and Sebastian was surprised to see the mabari not present, though many of their friends were. Fenris stood with his arms folded over his chest, glaring in the fire; Merrill sat in a chair brought from the library, wringing her hands; and Varric stood by Hawke's desk, sifting through letters. They all looked at the two as they entered.

"Not staying at the vigil?" Varric asked Sebastian, surprised.

He shook his head and tried to give an answer even as Hawke spoke up for him. "He's staying here tonight. He—He's leaving tomorrow morning for the mountains, to meet that woman he teamed up with."

"Rys," he supplied, though the slight darkening of her expression caught him off guard. Sebastian found his voice again after that.

"I wish I could stay to help mend Kirkwall, I truly do. But… I have to stop Merlynn. Since she's not in Kirkwall any longer, I have to assume she's heading toward Starkhaven. She's got a four-day head-start on me, but I'm more than certain she'll be moving much more slowly than the two week's travel to my home, with as many people as she has with her." He cleared his throat softly, wetted his lips with a flicker of his tongue. "But, I also need to gather up Rys first. She got dragged into this and is expecting me to join her."

"All right, sounds like a plan," Varric said, leaning against Hawke's desk. "We leave at first light?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No, _I_ leave at first light."

The dwarf snorted, and even Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"So, what, you and one Coterie woman are going to stop this Merlynn lady and all the warriors you say she has with her? Sounds like you're _trying_ to get yourself killed, Choir Boy."

"How were you even planning on stopping her?" Hawke joined in. He cast her a glance. "You can be sneaky when you want, granted, but Varric's sneakier. And Fenris can do that ghosting thing of his." She eyed him critically. "And what if you're too late? What if you can't stop her in time, and she has awoken the colossus? How are you going to stop _that_ all by your lonesome self?"

He didn't meet any of their eyes. "I… Honestly, I hadn't really gotten that in-depth about it, yet."

"I figured," Hawke and Varric said together.

"But, so far as the colossus, I'm a Vael. My family has dealt with it before. I will stop it, if need be."

"But wouldn't it be easier with help?" Merrill asked. "I could go with you, try to figure out what magic it's fuelled by, try to figure out how to counter it. Besides, it'd be nice to get out of the city."

"I will go as well." Fenris turned to him, the statement flat and closed to argument.

Sebastian lifted his eyes to them, took a breath and let it out.

"There's no guarantee as to what the outcome of this will be," he warned.

"There never was," Fenris replied.

"Hopefully it ends with all of you slaying the fell beast and the evil crazy woman while managing to stay alive yourselves," Hawke added.

"If only for the stories," Varric said, but held his hands up in apology at the sharp look Sebastian shot him. "Kidding, kidding."

The Starkhaven native looked from Fenris to Merrill, then relented. "Very well. You may come if you must. But I meet Rys alone. She does not know my true identity, and I want to know it won't be compromised if I reveal who I am to her. And, if I decide not to, you both _must_ refer to me as 'Brand' in her presence."

Fenris nodded, but Merrill seemed confused.

"But, why would you want to keep your identity secret? You're not a bad man, Sebastian—if a bit stuffy at times—but you're good, and this doesn't seem like you."

"Yes, Sebastian," Hawke said, a dark undercurrent to her words. "Why _don't_ you want her to find out who you really are?"

He made to reply, but stopped short as no good answer came to him. Why didn't he? It wasn't as if she could use it against him. It wasn't as if she could do something to him as Sebastian that she couldn't as Brand. And then it dawned on him. He didn't have to be anyone with her. He wasn't Sebastian Vael, Exiled Prince and Heir to the throne of Starkhaven. He wasn't Sebastian, brother of the Chantry. To her, he was just a simple mercenary, just a simple Starkhaven man. He realised he enjoyed the slight anonymity, the lack of titles. And while Hawke and the others didn't particularly give him any sort of special treatment, the titles were still there, an albatross weighing down his neck and shoulders. But, could he really tell them all that without insulting them?

"I just don't… I don't want to over complicate things. She already knows me as Brand, and I don't see any reason to tell her otherwise right now." He hesitated. "At least not until Merlynn and the colossus are dealt with."

Hawke regarded him suspiciously still, but Merrill was content with his answer.

"Brand is easier to say than Sebastian all the time, anyhow," was the Dalish elf's only comment.

Sebastian let out a breath and felt every ache in his muscles multiply. Hawke noticed his visible sagging, and motioned to Bodahn.

"Would you be a dear and heat up some of that spiced wine for us all? I think everyone is bone-weary and could use a bit of relaxing." The dwarf nodded and hurried off to the kitchens. The Champion of Kirkwall sighed. "You're all welcome to stay here tonight, if you don't want to go home, or are just too damn tired to move. Because I am definitely the latter of those."

"We wouldn't want to impose," Merrill began, but Hawke shushed her.

"Don't even try that. I have more than enough rooms, and I've come to dread this big place being so _empty_ all the time."

Fenris cleared his throat. "We'll be happy to stay, Hawke."

"I'm heading back to the Hanged Man," Varric said. "I want to hound the regulars for all the rumours they've heard about what happened." He grinned. "But I will stay for that wine."

Hawke gave the crossbowman a smile. "At least you're easy to keep happy, Varric."

Bodahn brought them steaming mugs of spiced wine, which they all happily took despite the warm weather, and it served well to soothe their tired bodies. Hawke and Sebastian dragged more chairs from the library into the main room so they could all sit and stare at each other."

"Well," Fenris said finally. "It's all finally over."

Hawke scowled and shook her head. "No, it's just getting to the worst part." At the puzzled looks she got, she continued. "Tearing everything down is the easy part. Rebuilding is what's difficult. Especially rebuilding to be better than before—you have to make everyone agree and still give them something out of the agreement."

"And," Varric cut in with a grandiose tone, "that is why I've decided to _not_ volunteer to go traipsing about the mountains to Starkhaven searching out an ancient monstrosity with you, after all, Sebastian. I'm used to making wordy, pompous-sounding, and usually underhanded deals. I can translate for Hawke as well as make sure she's not the one getting the shaft in the end, so to speak."

"Normally, I might take insult to that, but circumstances being what they are, I'll take all the help I can get."

"Maybe I can enlist your help when I establish myself in Starkhaven," Sebastian mused to Varric.

The dwarf grinned. "Maybe. For a fee."

"So, you've decided, then," Hawke said. "I suppose it was the only choice left after…"

Sebastian shook his head. "I chose a while ago. I just hadn't told anyone yet."

They fell into silence until the spiced wine was gone, and Varric stood to take his leave. He clasped hands with Sebastian and Fenris, wishing them both luck—as they did him—and Merrill knelt down to enwrap the dwarf in a tight hug. That seemed to fluster the dwarf somewhat as he worked to extricate himself.

"Just be careful, Daisy. Take plenty of lyrium and elfroot, just in case." The worry in his words, spreading lines across his brow, was unmistakeable.

She promised to do so and planted a kiss on his cheek. Varric left after that, grumbling something about Dalish elves and their free affection, but Sebastian swore he saw a flush creep across the dwarf's face.

"Maybe Bianca has some competition?" Hawke asked, giving Merrill an arch look.

"Oh, I don't think so," the elf responded glibly. "I've never seen a crossbow like her—or, it, I mean. Actually, I don't remember seeing many other crossbows at all, so Varric's would hardly have any competition."

Hawke shook her head. "Never mind. Why don't we all get some rest? It's been one of the longer days in my life." And there it all was again, the weariness in her voice, the weight of all the responsibilities heaved onto her shoulders. Sebastian would knead the knots out of them if it helped with the burden, but he knew the weight would always be there.

They voiced agreement with her, and stood before she led them up the stairs to her spare rooms. Fenris and Merrill took the two rooms down the left hall, and Hawke showed Sebastian to the single room down the right—he did not neglect to notice it was closer to her master bedroom than the others were. She took him to his room last, and lingered, face scrunching as she tried to think of something to say.

"Just say whatever's on your mind, Hawke," Sebastian told her after a moment, tired. "You always do."

"I'll have you know I can be tactful when I want to be," she protested.

"Now isn't one of those times."

"I know you're tired," she began, "but could you stay up with me a little while longer?"

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "Shall we go back down to your library?"

At her nod, he followed her back down the stairs and watched as she stood, staring into the low fire, fiddling with her fingers. He let out a quiet breath when she remained silent.

"Hawke, what's on your mind? This quiet wringing of your hands isn't like you at all." He moved to stand beside her.

"When was it you decided to retake Starkhaven and not tell me?"

The sharp hurt in her words took him by surprise.

"Did you think I would go without telling you?" Sebastian asked quietly, reaching out to brush fingers against her shoulder. She shied away from his touch and his hand fell, mouth drawing into a taut line. "I wouldn't have, Maebh," he went on, the use of her first name intentional, as he hoped it would cause her to look at him. All it did, however, was made her shrink more into herself. Sebastian's jaw tightened. This time, when he put a hand on her shoulder, he put it firmly, and didn't allow her to pull away. "I would have never dreamed to do such a thing." He turned her to face him.

"It doesn't matter," she said finally. "You're going back home to reclaim what's rightfully yours. And you'll be gone."

"Maebh, you talk as if I'm never coming back."

"I can't expect you to. You've got to establish yourself in Starkhaven, stabilise the city, and once that is done…" She faltered. "You'll be expected to produce an heir."

"Haven't you been the staunchest supporter of me taking back Starkhaven?"

Hawke closed her eyes, her face etched with pain and sorrow. "I lost one dear friend. I'm not sure I could bear losing you, too."

His heart broke and he gathered her into his arms, not caring if she protested or resisted—neither of which she did. Sebastian rested his cheek on her head and held her in silence for long minutes.

"You won't lose me," he whispered after a while. "Do you think even the distance of Starkhaven could keep me from you for long? After I deal with Merlynn and the colossus—"

"And what if you die?" she interrupted. "What if you go up against this Merlynn, and she kills you? Or, you stop her, but get killed by the colossus?" Hawke shook her head. "Don't make promises you might not be able to keep."

At her words, he pulled back from her to look at her. He didn't say anything, but fell to one knee before her, holding her hands as he did so.

"Maebh Hawke, I make a sacred vow to you tonight," he began and heard her suck in a breath. "I vow to do beyond my utmost limit to live long enough to come back to Kirkwall for you. Against Merlynn and her dark magic, against the colossus of ages past, against every conniving and plotting Starkhaven noble, I swear to you I will do better than my best to return to you." All his unspoken words hung in the air around them, and he mildly wondered if she could hear them as well as he did. He lowered his head over her hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles, as if doing so would solidify his impromptu vow.

Hawke's reply was whispered and feverish. "You shouldn't say such things, Sebastian." He looked up to see her wide-eyed and pale, almost frightened.

"Why not?

"But you might not…"

"I vowed to do what I could, didn't I?"

"Because of Starkhaven…"

"The nobility cannot control me, of this I am certain."

She pulled her hands from him and spun away, walking. He got to his feet and took two long strides before he caught up with her.

"Maebh, why are you—" He reached for her again, but she whirled to face him before he could touch her.

"Why are you using my first name all of a sudden? Are we that familiar now?" He had spooked her with something he said, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure what.

"I believe we are," he answered calmly. "But if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can certainly keep calling you Hawke. But," he continued, hands flashing out to grab hold of her before she could escape again. "You wanted to talk, and now you just keep running away. What _is_ it, Hawke?" Sebastian searched her face, silently pleading for her answer.

She stared back at him for a moment longer, then seemed to crumble in on herself.

"Why would you make a vow like that to me?"

Her question caught him by surprise. "Why? Why wouldn't I? I wanted to show you I was serious."

"Serious about what? About living? I should hope you are regardless of me. Or-" Hawke's voice failed her.

Sebastian slowly brought one of her hands up to his lip and left a kiss on her skin, never breaking eye contact with her. "I was serious about coming back to you, Hawke. Nothing in this world or the Void could prevent me from at least trying my damnedest." He studied her a few moments more. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to talk," he began.

She vehemently shook her head. "This is the only time, Sebastian. You're leaving at first light, and Maker knows when I'll see you again."

"Then what do you wish to talk about?" Sebastian winced at the sound of his own tone. "I'm sorry. I do not want to push you, but I'm afraid I am very tired."

"You don't have to apologise. I—I know I'm dancing around the issue." She bit her lip. "You're not sticking with your vows, as you plan to retake Starkhaven, right?"

He gave a nod. "Aye."

"Where does that Rys woman plan to go after Merlynn and the colossus are dealt with?"

He furrowed his brow, and missed whatever connection Rys and Starkhaven had in Hawke's mind. "I have no idea, Hawke. She's never spoken about it, and it's been nearly three weeks since I last saw her." He appeared thoughtful. "She did mention having some debts, though. Could mean she'd make for somewhere else. Why?"

Hawke didn't meet his gaze. "Just wondering. Would you give her sanctuary in Starkhaven if she wanted?"

Sebastian let out a short chuckle. "Until I fully reclaim it, I doubt Starkhaven will be much of a safe haven to anyone. But, yes. She would be welcomed in Starkhaven."

"I see." He watched as she drew herself up, watched as walls rose around her. "Well, I think all that seems to cover the things on my mind."

"Hawke—"

"No, I'm fine. Really. Now, it's late, it's too late, and we both need sleep." She didn't give him any room to argue as she ushered him out of the room. "You already know where your room is. I'll try to get up to see you off, but I have no guarantee how long I'll sleep," she added, coolly making light of things even as he knew she didn't mean it. He had seen this side of her countless times as she dealt with people over the years, and it bothered him that she used it with him. By the set of her brow, however, he knew trying to talk her out of whatever weighed on her was futile.

Instead, Sebastian let out a breath and nodded. "It is late," was all he said as he let her lead him up the stairs again.

She bid him a distant goodnight and vanished into her room, leaving him to watch her go. He wished he could stay and look over her—he knew everything with Anders was an open wound, fresh and bleeding, to her. Sebastian had to trust those left with her would help her heal where he would be absent.

He dropped heavily down onto the bed once inside Hawke's spare room, and he stared at his boots for a while before he remembered to take them off. Each piece of his armour came off slowly, somehow having doubled in weight since he had donned them that morning. As tired as he was, Sebastian had come to dread sleeping the past few weeks. Every night was filled with at least one dream—one nightmare—filled with fire and ending with his blood spilt. With everything he had seen today, that he had been part of, he shuddered to think what sleep tonight might hold for him. His rune ached when he thought about the fire dreams, and he felt a pulling, a tugging deep inside him to go somewhere, to go north. He tried his best not to think about what that might mean.

Sebastian knelt by his bed after his armour and gambeson were all off, staring first at the ceiling, then bowing his head over clasped hands.

"Maker," he prayed softly. "Give her strength. Give her…" Sebastian shook his head, words failing him. "Give her everything. Everything she needs, until I can come back to her and give it to her." He barely breathed after the words left his mouth, and drew in a ragged breath. "Sweet Andraste," he continued when his voice worked again. "Watch over Rys as you did her father, guide her steps safely. Guide my steps safely, and give me the strength and ability to stop evil before it ever has a chance to come to fruition." He ended his prayer with a brief phrase in the tongue of his ancestors, "_Yr naen gromhaire síennla_."

When he got to his feet, his very bones felt heavier, and he sunk into slumber like a stone into water the moment his head touched the pillow.

* * *

><p><em>Mountains loomed before him, mountains he thought he knew, but when he looked closer, they became warped and dark. He was pulled toward them, and though he tried to turn back, his feet didn't obey him. Beside him always was the smaller shadow, and he saw the same reluctant movements he made reflected. He felt that same heat again, the fire that always pursued him, but saw nothing as he twisted his torso to look behind. When he turned back, a blaze consumed the forms of mountains he was being drawn to. No amount of resistance slowed his feet from pulling him toward the inferno. He heard laughter, smoky and echoing, and the long-haired woman was nowhere in sight. He struggled to draw his bow, his sword—any weapon—but none of his muscles obeyed him.<em>

_Now the mountains were no longer distant, now he and the shadow were running toward the flames, even as his mind screamed at his body to stop. The laughter rang in his ears, consumed the very air he breathed like the smoke that now started to fill his lungs. He opened his mouth to shout as his legs forced him to leap into the flames, flaring bright in his eyes. He tried to raise his hands to shield his face from—_

—the predawn pouring across his now-open eyes in a grey slash. Sebastian bolted upright in a cold sweat, panting. That was the worst one yet, and the only one where he ran toward the fire. He felt sick to his stomach and swallowed the urge to retch. Shaking, he got out of the bed and paced a few times before forcing himself to be still and take slow breaths.

"It was just a dream," he told himself. Why did it feel like it wasn't?

Fingers raked roughly through his hair and he pressed his palm to the throbbing rune on his chest. It felt warmer than it had in weeks, and the constant dull ache had sharpened overnight. He had to get to Rys.

Spurred by a growing sense of impatience, Sebastian quickly dressed and instead of donning his full armour, he pulled on his gambeson and then his mail, storing the plates of his family armour into a satchel he found in the room. He had been unable to save his mercenary leathers, having left them in the Chantry. He would have to pick up another longsword and belt along the way, as well. He took the time to vaguely make the bed he had rumpled in sleep—not as neat as his usual, but it would suffice for courtesy's sake—before striding out the door and down to the foyer. Bodahn was up as well, and he caught a glimpse of Orana heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, messere Vael," the dwarf greeted. "If you're wanting breakfast, Orana is about to start in the kitchen."

Sebastian shook his head. "I'm afraid I must decline. If she is willing to part with some provisions, however, I will gladly accept. As soon as Fenris and Merrill are ready, we must be off."

"Shall I go rouse them?" Bodahn offered.

He considered it a moment. "If they are not already doing so," he said. "Thank you." The dwarf nodded and headed first to the kitchen before going upstairs.

As he waited, Sebastian found himself itching for action. To keep himself from pacing, he sat and inspected his arrows. He ran knowing fingers along the fletchings, tested each head with his thumb for its edge, and when he had run out of arrows, he pulled out his dagger to do the same with it, but before he could draw the blade out, footsteps drew his attention.

"Merrill coming," Fenris said to him as he descended. "And I believe Bodahn is trying to wake Hawke."

Sebastian put away his curved dagger and stood.

"Thank you for coming with me," he said. "Despite knowing you'll be working with Merrill."

The dark elf's expression twitched for a moment, but remained largely unchanged. "I can suffer her company if it means stopping greater evil. I have done so before, I doubt one more time will kill me."

Despite his state of mind, Sebastian smiled at that. Orana came from the kitchen with four packs, one of them larger than the rest. Eyes lowered, she handed them to Sebastian and murmured something too soft for him to hear before turning and hurrying back to the kitchen. Fenris watched her go.

"She's gotten better over time," he said, quiet.

A ghost of a smile tugged as Sebastian's mouth. "Hawke is good at either drawing the best or the worst out in people." Or both at once, he silently added.

As Sebastian set the packs down, Bodahn and Merrill made their way down the stairs. The Dalish elf mage looked refreshed and chipper as ever, the complete opposite of everything Sebastian felt and was sure he looked. Perhaps, he hoped, those fire dreams would stop once they had taken care of Merlynn.

The dwarf, on the other hand, was nervous and apologetic. "Uh, messere Hawke doesn't—isn't quite up at the moment." The slight twitching of his fingers and quick glances back up the stairs told Sebastian Bodahn was covering for Hawke.

It cut sharp through his chest, to have an argument and a cold goodnight be the last he heard from Hawke in what could turn out to be a long while, but he had no time left to try to mend that rift now. Sebastian let out a sigh and gave a short nod.

"Please give her our farewells," he said instead, "and let her know we missed her."

Ignoring the questioning looks both Fenris and Merrill gave him, he handed them each a small pack, while keeping the larger plus his own small one. They followed him out after a brief goodbye to Bodahn and a sleepy Sandal who came into the room just at they were leaving. Once outside, Sebastian felt not exactly relieved, but slightly better, now that he was in open air again. Ash still drifted softly through the air, especially this close to where the Chantry used to be, but he quelled the sick feeling that roiled in his stomach. There was no more time. His rune burned into him, and he felt the pull northward stronger than ever.

"We head north to the mountains, then cut northeast around Sundermount," he told the two elves with him as he began making his way toward the Hightown gate. With more inquisitive looks thrown his way, Sebastian strode to a fallen soldier whose body had not yet been tended, and took the longsword and belt the corpse wore. He belted it about his hips as he rejoined his companions, deciding not to explain himself to them. "There's a glen a bit up into the mountains where we'll find Rys. It's about four days' travel—less if we can find horses on the way."

It wasn't until they were outside the city walls that either of his friends spoke up.

"It's odd that Hawke didn't see us off, don't you think?" Merrill said.

"It is most unlike her," Fenris added, giving a pointed glance to Sebastian that he ignored.

"She's been under a lot of stress." Sebastian had to remind himself not to snap at them. "That apostate's death hit her hard. He was… very close to her." It hurt to say every word, to think of how much the implications meant.

"She's afraid she'll lose us, too," Fenris stated. Sebastian nodded.

"I bet she wishes she could come," Merrill mused softly. It was more than Sebastian could take right then.

"The first farmhouse with a stable we come upon, I will see if we might purchase some horses to speed our way," Sebastian said before anything more about Hawke could be uttered. Leaving her behind had been hard enough—he didn't need constant reminders of it. They seemed to take his hint and didn't mention Hawke after that.

"I've never ridden a horse before," Merrill admitted. "Can I ride with one of you?"

"Let's get the horses first," Sebastian replied.

Over an hour they walked along the road leading north, passing by scattered farmhouses before entering a small village. Sebastian had come here on occasion before, when the city and its people grew too encroaching and his heart longed for the open country of the Free Marches. Growing up in Starkhaven, with its sprawling fields and languid hills, a boy got used to open space to run around in, even with Starkhaven proper as his home. Sebastian had been notorious for sneaking out into the countryside as a young man, and he didn't often get the chance to do that once sent to Kirkwall, outside of special occasions and excuses of taking needed supplies to the farmers and villagers nearby the city. It was on those occasions that he slowly became a familiar face in the area, and he and his two companions were warmly welcomed when spotted and recognised. They were led to the inn and offered a well-to-do room, which Sebastian declined. After inquiring about a stable, they were directed around the back of the inn. A middle-aged woman overseeing two younger stable hands greeted the three when they went looking.

"Ah, greetings, good messere," the woman said to Fenris, who was studying the horses intently. "How can we help you this evening? Have you a mount to board for the evening?"

"Actually," the warrior said, "we're looking to purchase some mounts. We're headed north of Sundermount, and require horses to speed our travelling."

In an instant, the woman became all business. She regarded the three sharply. "You'll be needing three horses?"

"Aye." Something about the way she asked was suspicious, and caught Sebastian's attention.

"Well, we only have two." Her answer was clipped as she folded her arms over her chest.

Fenris made a point to look down the stable, in which several stalls on each side were occupied. "Only two?"

The woman snorted. "You think all these horses are mine to sell? Travellers board their horses here, just like I asked if you wanted to." She motioned them to follow her, and led them down through the stalls to the end. A palfrey and a rough-looking black gelding were in the last two stalls, and the woman motioned to them. "These are the two I have." She fixed Fenris with a stern look. "You can have the black for ten sovereigns, and the palfrey for twenty."

Fenris looked as if he were about to growl an answer, but Sebastian stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him. He gave the woman a winning smile before he spoke.

"Madam, we will be happy to pay for these horses," Sebastian told her.

She looked him up and down. "Wait… You're the man who comes by from time to time, aren't you? With the gifts for the little ones."

"Aye, I am."

In an instant, her demeanour changed. "Well, you should have said something sooner, serah Sebastian. I wouldn't've hiked the price. For you, I'll take ten sovereigns for both." She bestowed a smile on him.

"Thank you," Sebastian's smile turned genuine, as he fished the coins from a pouch on his belt.

Once the horses were saddled and led out of the stable, Sebastian swung onto the black's saddle, and Fenris to the palfrey's. Merrill looked from one to the other, unsure. Pursing his lips and looking off to the side, Fenris offered a hand to her. She made a soft startled sound and took it, only to have the tattooed elf hoist her unceremoniously into the saddle in front of him. With one last nod of thanks to the stablewoman, Sebastian spurred his horse into a swift trot out of the town, followed closely by Fenris and Merrill. This was good, Sebastian thought. It felt better to be moving swiftly on horseback—the years in Kirkwall left him longing for time in the saddle—and it also made him feel like he was doing more. He felt an indescribable restlessness and urge to be doing something every moment he spent standing still, and this gave him purpose and helped to quell those feelings somewhat. Unbidden, a hand went to the rune on his chest, beneath his gambeson and mail.

"Hold on, Rys," he murmured as he rode, though he wasn't sure why. "I'll be there soon enough."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally, here ends the game plot. From here on out, Sebastian, Fenris, and Merrill—soon join up with Rys, of course—will be following my own plotline of Merlynn and the colossus. I hope it lives up to DA2 quality and enjoyment!**

**I purposefully did not translate Sebastian's old language, so don't fret that you don't know what it means yet. You will in the future**


	9. Trails

**Chapter Nine: **

The horses allowed them to cut the travel time Sebastian had predicted in half. It didn't hurt that Merrill was much more familiar with the area around Sundermount, though one they were a half day's travel northeast the mountain, she wasn't as sure of herself. Between her knowledge and Sebastian's memory, they reached the area outside the glen within two days. He halted the horses as they came into the shadow of a cliff.

"Up there is the glen," Sebastian told them, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered. "It took us only a few minutes to come down once we found a deer trail along the slope." He motioned to the western side. "There. It's easy to find. Once I tell her I've brought you, I'll come out from the trees and signal you to come up."

Merrill pursed her lips. "So much secrecy," she said, but Sebastian ignored her. Fenris shifted in the saddle, behind her, but said nothing.

"It should not take me long." Without waiting for a response from either, Sebastian nudged his horse into motion with his knees. Around the cliff face and up the narrow trail, Sebastian felt a warming in his rune as he drew closer to the glen. Just outside the clearing, he dismounted and paused, taking the time to scan the trees. Something felt… wrong. He rubbed the rune on his chest and it pulsed painfully underneath his fingers like a wound taking too long to heal. He narrowed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his longsword, on edge. His breathing stilled and he focused on extending his senses into the forest. Birds were sparse in the trees, and there was a slight breeze that rustled the leaves and bushes. Some mourning doves burst from the cover of a thicket, but Sebastian already had his blade drawn as six armoured foe rushed toward him from points encircling the clearing. He let out a shout of alarm to alert Fenris and Merrill, then could spare no more concentration on anything but fighting them off.

He could not tell if they were men or women, and he didn't have the time to care. Three were closer to him than their fellows, and sprinted toward him. He ducked and rolled beyond the reach of two of them, but came up narrowly catching a violent swing by the third on his longsword. They hung there for a few breaths, locked against one another's blade, but he proved the stronger and managed to shove his attacker off-balance. She—that one Sebastian was now sure was a woman—stumbled back into one of her companions as the archer regained his feet to parry a wide attack from the third. In the back of his mind, he knew there were three more coming for him, but he was too focused on striking down the one before him to quite recall their presence. His free hand took an opening to pull his curved dagger out from its sheath, held backwards and at the ready. By that time, the two he had knocked into one another had reclaimed their footing and loomed close behind the one attacking him. His rune pulsed and he spared a glance to either side to see the remaining three flanking him—two to his left, one to his right. A sweat broke on his skin and he took a step back. He had not fought with sword in hand in earnest for years, and there was no way he could take down three—let alone six—fully armed fighters, all with swords of their own.

"Fenris?" he called out again. "Merrill? Any time now would be good!"

No answer but his enemy's blade came to him, and he fought back knowing full well that even as he drove his opponent backward, the others were closing in and encircling him. He lashed out with his curved dagger at his attacker's throat, but whipped his wrist around at the last minute, causing the tip of the deadly blade to swing out and catch between the bottom of the helmet and the top of the chest plate, and his opponent wore no gorget to protect his neck. Blood spouted from the wound and a strangled cry left the enclosed helm as the man dropped his sword to grasp futilely at his open throat. He fell to his knees and Sebastian side-stepped his falling form, even as the two behind the dying man sprung toward him. Sebastian moved to his right, so the two who had flanked his left were distanced from him, and he gave a snarl as he charged the single enemy on what was once his right flank, hoping to startle with a sudden display of ferocity.

He hadn't accounted for the speed of the woman earlier, however, and she barreled into him, taking him to the ground and knocking the breath from his lungs and the sword from his hand. Knowing each moment he was immobilised brought him closer to death, Sebastian kicked wildly until he felt the crunch of a kneecap give way to his heavy boot. The woman went down with a cry as her leg bent at an angle it was never meant to.

Scrambling to his feet once more, Sebastian scooped up his sword from the ground and whirled to face the remaining four. Where in the corners of the Void were his friends?

As if in answer, the smell of ozone suddenly grew sharp in his nostrils and fingers of lighting snaked from the depths of the forest to wrap around one of the attackers, armour acting as a conduit. Sebastian smelled burning flesh and hair as the electrocuted fighter dropped like a stone to the ground, smoke rising from the narrow slit of the visor. In that instant, recognition washed over Sebastian, and he took a moment too long to stare at the smoking dead man. Of the three left alive and standing, two had spun to try and figure out where the lighting had come from, but the third remained intent on Sebastian, and struck while the archer was distracted. His mail took much of the blow, but the sharp slice still cut into his shoulder and bicep. A startled noise left his throat, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and whirled to clash blades with the attacker. His rune throbbed, hot and painful, but it seemed to give him new strength, and he set a flurry of strokes against the fighter now backing away from him, barely able to fend off Sebastian's blows. Mid-swing, the archer dropped to waist height and lunged at the armoured man to take him down to the ground, bringing his dagger up again to finish his enemy even as he was pinned beneath Sebastian's knees. He hit a wide artery that time, and blood spurted up across Sebastian, but he didn't notice it through his battle haze. This must be what Hawke felt, he realised somewhere in the back of his mind. He glanced over to the other two remaining in time to see Fenris erupt from the trees on horseback, riding right between them with his monstrous blade singing its death song through the air. He cut down one and knocked the other onto the ground. In a flash, Sebastian was up and following in the elf's wake, finishing off the last enemy with his sword plunging into the exposed throat.

Panting and still seeing red, Sebastian whirled to a soft whimpering sound, ready to fight again, but stopped cold when he saw Rys held tight in the arms of a seventh armoured enemy.

"Drop your weapons," a grating male voice echoed from behind the closed visor. Sebastian obeyed, his eyes intent on the dagger at Rys's throat.

He heard a horse's loud snort and spared a second to glance at Fenris, still mounted, turning to face this new man.

"Stay your horse," the man ordered. The warrior looked to Sebastian, who gave a nod, and complied.

"I must say, she was much less difficult to capture," the armoured man told Sebastian. "Even though we had the element of surprise and knew you were coming." Sebastian could hear the smile in his voice. "The Lady chose well when she decided to bind you two. Now." He roughly tightened his grip on Rys, pressed the dagger more into her skin until droplets of blood started running down the blade. "Tell your friend to stand down and back away. You need to come with me, and the Lady does not like to be kept waiting. Perhaps if you do so quietly, she won't have to bleed any more than—"

Abruptly, his words cut off in a choke, and the hands holding Rys and his dagger began shaking violently. He shoved Rys away like a victim of some plague and dropped his knife, both hands now occupied with tearing off his helmet and clawing at his tattooed face until streams of blood ran from his own nails. Sebastian and Fenris stared at him in horror as he dropped to his knees and screamed. They watched him shred his own skin, the whites of his eyes in stark contrast to the black of his face tattoos. Rys scrambled away from the man, eyes wide and ignoring the blood that clung to her own throat.

"Now!" Merrill's shout cut through the air and snapped Sebastian out of his shock. As he bolted forward, he snatched up his curved blade and slashed it across the man's neck. The dying man screamed again and seemed to look right through Sebastian as he fell backward, eyes rolling back into his skull.

He stood over the dead man, disgust curling his lip, as Merrill came into the clearing leading their second horse. Fenris looked at her.

"What did you _do_?"

She bit her lip sheepishly. "It was the only thing I could think of, the way he was holding her captive like that."

"What _was_ it?" Sebastian's voice sounded odd and hoarse to his ears.

"A spell that inflicts horrific images and sensations upon the victim… I really don't like to do it, but I didn't see any other opening." She walked over to Rys. "Are you all right? I'm not really a healer myself, but I know we brought some vials—"

Rys stood suddenly, and took a step back. "Brand…" she began warningly. Her breathing was noticeably heavier.

"Aye, it's all right. Merrill and Fenris, this is Rys. Rys, there are some friends of mine I brought with tae help us."

Their introductions were cut short by a moan, and they all looked to see the woman with the broken knee writhing slowly on the ground, clutching her leg. Much to everyone's surprise, Sebastian stroke over and tore the helmet from her head. Like the man, her face was covered in black tattoos—Sebastian assumed if they were to unmask her dead companions, they would be found the same. She stared up at him through tears, one word repeating on her lips over and over.

"Mercy," she implored him.

He knelt beside her. "I will give you mercy," he told her softly. "But first you must answer my questions."

"Yes—anything," the woman keened.

"Who do you work for?" Sebastian absently rested a hand on her wounded knee.

"I—I don't _work_ for anyone."

The archer gave her knee a sharp squeeze and the woman gasped for air.

"Do not play me over semantics." There was no room for disobedience in his tone.

The woman whimpered, but relented. "I am bound by the Lady, Lady Merlynn. She told me how we were all part of something bigger and greater than ourselves. She told us all that she needed us."

Sebastian's fingers tightened just a bit more. "Needed you for what?"

The woman clenched her teeth and her nostrils flared in pain. Sebastian felt a wetness on his fingers and knew it was blood from her knee. He made no motion to move his hand.

"For—for controlling it. It has runes, so many runes, but she demanded two bindings to every one it had." She whimpered through her pain. Her eyes pressed shut and as much as she tried to drag Sebastian's fingers from her knee, she could move him no more easily than she could have moved a boulder. "She—she even took the first rune herself."

Sebastian eased his grip just slightly, and the woman's head fell back as she gasped a few times for air like a fish for water.

"Who else took the first rune?" he asked, eyes never leaving her face, his voice never rising in volume.

"The man," she panted. "The man who told her about it."

Fear gripped Sebastian's chest like a vice, but his heart pounded more from adrenaline than anything else. He was close to the answers he sought. Just one name from this woman would tell him who knew and had access to his family's secrets, and then he could hunt this man down and kill him.

"I don't know his name—" the woman began, but let out a cry as Sebastian dug his fingers into her knee again. "I swear! I swear on the holy face of Andraste I don't know!" He gave her knee a rough shove away and she collapsed onto her side, sobbing. He growled something under his breath.

"Where is she now?" he asked the woman.

"A day's right north of here," the woman sobbed. "She's took the main road and cut down all in her path, if they don't join her."

"And where is she headed?" He leaned in close to her.

The woman shook her head. "No place I ever heard of."

"Just tell me, anyhow." His hand went to her knee again, just touching it, but she cringed as if he had broken it again.

"Spiralcrag, or Craggyspire, or something like that." The woman got out. "I don't know where it is or what it means—I just know we were marching north and north."

Sebastian hesitated. "What it means?"

"She—she kept talking about having to find it first. B-but the man who told her, he said he knew, 'cause his family was from there."

His fingers involuntarily tightened. "And you were privy to all this?"

She shook her head. "N-no. I overheard a lot. Before she sent us to collect you two." She whimpered again. "I told you all I know… Please show me mercy…"

Fenris came up behind him. "She could be a useful source of information," he said in a low voice.

Sebastian's lips drew into a taught line. "What do you know about this thing she's searching for?" He felt the woman shuddering under his hand.

"Not much at all… I—she told us it was ancient and forgotten… That it would put all people on the same level—no classes, no races. Just… people." Some of the pain left her voice, replaced with an odd wistfulness.

"Did she tell you what it was?" His tone was harder than Sebastian meant it to be.

"No… No, forgive me, I don't know." The lull of calm in the woman was gone as quickly as it had come, and she fell into wracking sobs again.

"Why did she insist on two for each rune?" he asked, putting slow pressure on her broken knee.

She let out a low sound of pain from her throat before she answered.

"She said—she said it would make her hold on it st-stronger. I-I don't know!" she added before he could ask any further.

Drawing in a breath, Sebastian leaned back, taking his hand from her knee and remaining silent a moment.

"Is that all you know?" Something deadly in Sebastian's voice made his companions cast him sharp and startled glances.

The woman lying before him gave an acquiescing sort of sound. Feeling like he was moving through water, Sebastian drew his curved knife and leaned back over the woman.

"Maker forgive you," he whispered to her. "Maker forgive me." He watched her eyes open wide as she turned her head to him, which only gave him an easier task of sliding his blade over her throat. She thrashed a little and he held her down with his free hand, even as he spoke words from the Canticle of Trials.

"_Draw your last breath, my friends, Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, And be Forgiven_."

The tattooed woman relaxed into death as he finished speaking, and he lifted his hand from her chest in his dagger from her throat.

"Did you—" Merrill's voice broke the silence that hung after he finished the Canticle.

"She could have been useful to us," Fenris growled, not bothering to hide his disagreement to Sebastian's actions.

Sebastian stood, wiping the dagger on an old cloth he produced from a pouch. He looked directly at Rys before answering. "It had tae be done." He watched Rys nod, slow and certain and echoing his own feelings, even as he continued. "The risk of her escaping back to Merlynn outweighed the value of what little information she might have been hiding."

"But… did it outweigh the value of her life?" Merrill spoke quietly, eyes on the dead woman. "She did ask for mercy."

"Aye, she did," Sebastian replied calmly as he slid the dagger back into its sheath. "It wouldnae been mercy tae leave her with an unset broken leg that'd fester. It wouldnae been mercy tae leave her alone in th' woods, wounded, with her dead lying about her waiting tae be meals for wolves and pumas and Maker knows aught else."

"He's right," Rys said, stepping forward to the three of them. "Besides, the more power we can take away from Merlynn, the better." She gave Sebastian a look and his rune throbbed; he got the sense she had something more to say, but opted not to. "Let's move on. She said Merlynn had to find this thing first, so we've got an advantage she doesn't."

Fenris furrowed his brow. "What's that?"

"We know where she's headed. For all she knows, her little trap worked, and we're all dead. Or on our way back to her." Rys eyed the horses. "I take it we're riding double?"

Sebastian nodded. "We could only get two."

"Which is good, because I really have no idea how to ride a horse. They're so _big_," Merrill said. She barely came up to the horse's withers as she stood next to it.

"Lucky some of us do," Fenrish said to her.

Sebastian let his friends banter as his eyes fell back to the dead woman at his feet. An idea struck him, and he knelt to start fussing with her chest armour.

"Brand?" Rys had come to stand by him. "Brand, what are you doing?"

He grunted in response, intent on his task. After a few moments, he got the plate off the woman and tugged her shirt down. Merrill gave a startled sound as he did so, but he ignored her, staring at the rune branded into the dead woman's flesh, just above her left breast.

"Rys," Sebastian said, but the former mercenary was already dropping to a knee beside him, hovering over the corpse.

"It's different," she said, looking up and meeting his eyes.

"I think we should make note of _all_ their runes," Sebastian went on, pulling a scrap of parchment and a charcoal stick from a pouch on his belt. He carefully copied the woman's rune onto the paper, even as Rys was moving to the next corpse.

"Get their chest plates off," she said to Merrill and Fenris, who complied to her command, despite not knowing her.

One by one, Sebastian moved to each corpse, copying down the pyjrt six runes they had. They were all different from his and Rys's, and all different from one another. When he finished with the last one, his companions joined him where he stood looking at the runes.

"Can I take a look at them?" Merrill asked, already reaching for the parchment.

"Of course." He handed it over, watching as the Dalish elf furrowed her brow at it, Fenris peering over her shoulder. After a moment, the warrior looked up at Sebastian.

"You said the first one of these was different," he said. "Different from what?"

"Different from the runes Rys and I are branded with." Sebastian took back the parchment and added his rune to the others; he needed no reference for it. Handing it back to Merrill, he added, "I think it best tae keep note of all th' different runes. We might need them later."

The Dalish elf looked at the parchment again as Fenris asked, "How would they be useful?"

The tall archer shook his head. "I donnae know, but better tae have them an' never need them than tae need them an' have discarded them." He chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. "We should be going," he said, echoing Rys's earlier statement.

"Wait," Merrill said, stepping over to him. "You're bleeding. Are you all right?"

Sebastian looked at her a moment before remembering he had been cut in the fight. He looked down at his arm, where the edges of the tear in his gambeson were stained red. "I'll be fine. It seems just a scratch." The cut throbbed now that his attention was on it, but he shrugged off the pain as mild irritation rather than anything to be concerned about. His mail was excellent quality and his gambeson thick; he was sure it stopped the worst of the blow.

"Oh, all right then," she agreed quickly.

They paired up on the horses again, Fenris pulling Merrill up behind him, while Rys mounted Sebastian's horse first, moving as far forward as the leather pommel would allow so Sebastian had room to sit as well. He hesitated only a moment before swinging up behind her. He slid his arms around her waist and he felt her press back into him. He flicked his black's reigns and gave a sharp touch with the heel of his boots to the horse's underbelly. Fenris and Merrill followed close behind as they continued north through the forest. Sebastian's thoughts went back to the dilemma that had risen in his mind after seeing Rys again.

"Rys," he said at last. She turned her head to hear him better. "I confess I haven't been entirely up front with you," he began.

She chuckled, and he felt the noise through his chest. "No one ever is, with someone else. Remember what I said about secrets?"

He pressed his lips together. "I remember. But this isn't one of those secrets."

"Brand," she interrupted him. "I don't want your confessions. I'm not a mother, or a lay-sister."

He had to laugh a little at that. "Oh, I know that full well. This isn't anything soul-shattering or earth-shaking, I promise you."

"You're accent's different," she said abruptly.

"Ah, that's what I was going to tell you. _This_ is my real speaking voice. I…" He had to tread carefully now, lest he reveal too much too fast. "I had to conceal it with a thicker dialect, considering how much my Starkhaven accent stands out around here."

"I know you're not from Craggspire," she told him.

Sebastian stiffened at that. "How—?"

She laughed again. "I told you my grandda was from there. You had a similar sound, I'll give you that, but it was still different than how he used to speak."

He glanced down at her. "So, you knew all along?" She nodded. "Why did you let me play the fool, then?"

She shrugged. "I figured if you had decided to mask your voice, you had a reason for doing so. Not my place to question your motives, Brand."

"I—Thank you." He grew up used to everyone either scolding him or watching over him. Hawke and her crew were the first people he spent his time with that didn't do either. Now there was Rys, too.

"You know," she started, "I was beginning to worry I'd never see you again."

A pang of guilt went through him. He had wanted to come sooner but… "I couldn't get away before," he told her. "Kirkwall…" Sebastian's voice caught for a moment. "The Chantry's been destroyed. Knight-Commander Meredith is dead."

Shock rippled through Rys so much that he felt it through his mail and thick gambeson. "I—what? The Chantry? But who would—"

Sebastian shook his head. "The abomination that did it is slain. I—" The look on Hawke's face as he strode to Anders to do what she could not rose in his memory like a viper. "I saw to that."

She twisted her neck to look at him with a sudden fierceness, and her voice was thick. "Good," she spat. "It deserved such a fate. All those people. And the Grand Cleric…" Rys shook her head and bit her lip, face twisting with grief. "She was always so nice to me."

Had she frequented the Chantry? Sebastian wondered, recalling what she had told him of her father and his devotion. If fear of Merlynn hadn't driven her away, would Rys have been among the dead? A small voice in the back of his mind dared to ask that if she had been a frequent visitor, how could she now know who he truly was? He pushed that thought aside. There would be time for that later.

"Rys… I am sorry to be the one to tell you that," he said quietly instead.

"I'm sorry you were there to witness it, Brand," she replied, relaxing again. "I wish we could spend more time on sadness and pain… but we do have other pains to deal with."

Sebastian nodded, immediately afterward ducking beneath a low branch. "Much as I would like to grieve, it does feel better to be on the move, going after Merlynn."

"I feel that way, as well." Her agreement was immediate, and it gave him a mild sense of relief. He knew Hawke and the others believed him—mostly, anyway—but he couldn't describe the feeling of anxiety, of restlessness the runes created in him to them. Rys, on the other hand, knew just as well as he.

"I can't imagine her using anything but the main roadways, with a host large as hers," Sebastian noted. "But there are plenty of less used—and less known—roads to Starkhaven that we can take."

"Are we trying to get to Starkhaven before her, then? Or should we intercept her along the way?" Fenris joined the conversation from behind them.

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, but his words stuck in his throat as he felt Rys shift and lead back against him more comfortably. It had been a long while since a woman had been in his arms thus, and he had forgotten the hidden pitfalls of riding double—Rys's backside pushed flush against him being one of them. Taking a breath, he calmed himself. She was not Hawke. His rune warmed.

"I'd normally say we just got a kill her, but I doubt she'd be without protection. No… I think we should make for Craggspire before her, maybe seeing if we can get a glimpse at just how many she has."

Fenris voiced his agreement to Sebastian's plan, and they fell into silence after a while, noting the sounds of the forest had picked up to normal since their skirmish earlier. The forest seemed a little more open and brighter all around, Sebastian observed, though his face clouded at the thought of the dark, ancient magic Merlynn used. His rune had died down to its normal ache again—no, it was less than that. He wondered if it had anything to do with Rys's proximity. He suspected the rune created some sort of bond or connection between them, in addition to binding them to Merlynn and the colossus.

So lost was he in thought, he missed Rys asking him something in a low voice.

"I'm sorry?" he said, and she turned her head to repeat herself.

"I was asking about your friends…" Rys left the end hanging.

"I trust them, if that's what you're implying," he replied, trying to not let his irritation at the question show. She did not know them and what he had been through with them. "But… I had hoped to take care of all this without involving anyone else. Now it seems we must."

"Yes," Rys said dryly. "Instead of only two people against a power-hungry madwoman and her army, we now have four. I feel so much better about my chances of surviving this."

Sebastian chuckled, but it came out more nervous than he would have liked.

"I don't think we should be entirely daunted," he continued. "Knight-Commander Meredith became… possessed by a power from a lyrium-made sword she carried. It drove her over the brink of insanity and gave her powers beyond normal mortals. Beyond even most mages or apostates that I have known, for that matter," he added as more an afterthought than anything. "My friends and I stopped her." His thoughts went back to Hawke.

"Just the three of you?" The disbelief in Rys's voice was expected.

"Ah, no. We were seven, all told. And the Templars did help, if my memory serves me right, though battle does haze it."

"Why didn't you bring the rest, then?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't. The city needs rebuilding, and they had to stay to take care of that." The sharp blade he felt when he told Hawke he had to go, knowing she had to stay, cut through him again.

"Hm. You _do_ have friends in high places for a mere vassel of a Starkhaven lord," Rys commented.

Sebastian closed his eyes a moment, out of her line of sight, as his rune flashed heat.

"I must go in the stead of my lord in all things," he replied, smooth as silk. "He could not send a mere peasant to act as his proxy."

A neutral sound came from Rys and she paused only a second before speaking again, her tone once more light rather than suspicious.

"Of course," she agreed. "He would certainly send men he trusted entirely to make decisions in his place." She fell into a silence for a while that he did not break.

They did not stop until nightfall. Sebastian and Fenris left Merrill and Rys to make their camp to hunt for firewood and food. They had provisions from Orana, but those would keep a while longer, and Sebastian did not want to waste anything that could be used as an emergency store if they could help it. Fenris flushed a pheasant out of the bushes that Sebastian caught easily with an arrow. His thoughts pulled him suddenly back to falconing as a young man, and how that had been the first privilege his parents took from him. They headed back to camp, Sebastian with their catch and Fenris with an armful of sticks.

He remained silent as he plucked the pheasant, listening to Merrill chatter at Rys. The Dalish elf took easily to most people, and Rys was so similar to Hawke in certain ways, Sebastian would have been surprised if Merrill hadn't liked her. Fenris was quiet as well, but that was not unusual for him. For her part, Rys was friendly enough to Merrill, especially after the first few minutes of conversation. Sebastian inspected the feathers he pulled for quality and colour, but in the end he discarded them all as not good enough for his fletching. They ate well that night, and fell asleep to Merrill's soft humming during her watch.

* * *

><p>The next few days were much the same, and he had to silently thank Merrill for not letting his true name slip even once the entire time. The farther north they went, the rockier the land became. Sebastian recognised much of it, though not well enough to say he knew the lay of the land quite yet. Though they were going north, away from the colder southern shore, the air did not grow warming as the elevation rose into the lowland hills, marking the feet of the Minlach Mountains where Starkhaven had been built. Boulders and juts of rock became more prolific, and every once in a while they came to the crest of a slightly higher hill than the others, and Sebastian would point out a distant mountain landmark or, on one occasion, the faint blue that he named the Minanter itself. Merrill was amazed they could see the Minanter all the way from where they were, but Sebastian pointed out that while they were headed to the mountains, to the west was through mostly plains and steppes that the Minanter wound, much like the more or less flat land between the Vimmark Mountains and the Minlach. The hills eventually gave way to thick forests, where they kept to deer trails and forest paths, with the main road always to their right, to the east. While they had been some miles away from it on the stretch between the Vimmark and the Minlach, Sebastian steered them closer to the main road once they were within the cover of the forest. The morning of the fourth day to Craggspire was quiet, and around midday, Sebastian halted them. They ate and one by one stole into the forest for some privacy. After Sebastian finished and was lacing up his breeches, he froze as a sound not of the forest caught the edge of his hearing.<p>

Quickly, he tied off the knot and replaced his belt and buckle—not Andraste's face, but a much simple one—and lowered into a walking crouch, slowly and silently sliding his way forward. Behind a thick copse of shrubs, he took cover and listened, deliberately checking his breathing to be slow and regular. His eyes scanned the forest, finding nothing. Waiting a few moments longer, he was about to stand and head back, when he felt a brief flash of pain heat his rune and immediately after heard voices. Hand drifting to his felt to wrap around the dagger there, Sebastian watched as three figures came into view. They were armoured like all the others they had seen associated with Merlynn, and they seemed unaware of Sebastian's presence. They hovered around the same area, and he guessed it was their campsite—startlingly close to where they had stopped for their midday lunch. Releasing his dagger, Sebastian instead strung his bow and notched an arrow. Like fish in a barrel, he told himself as one got up and made his way apart from the others to do just what Sebastian and his companions had done. The archer tracked the man relieving himself with his arrow, waiting until his companions were busy with something else before loosing. It found the man's neck, cutting off any cry he might have uttered. He fell heavily, still serving to alert the other two, but instead of running to aid, Sebastian watched as they froze as he had done, listening first. He heard them call out a name, then saw them draw weapons when there was no response. Cautious, they edged their way to where they had seen their comrade go, searching for him. Sebastian put another arrow through the second one's neck, swiftly followed by the third's. Satisfied, he stood and made his way over to the three fallen men. One by one, he revealed and copied down each of their runes. He would need to start writing smaller, else he was liable to run out of room on the parchment he had.

The snap of a footstep had him whirling, arrow drawn and ready even while his bow hand still held the parchment and charcoal pencil he was using to write.

"Well, I can certainly tell the sword is not your first weapon of choice," Rys told him, amused smile on her face as she looked at him around his bow.

Sebastian relaxed and slid the arrow back into his quiver, taking a moment to unstring his bow. "Aye, I cannot deny that. Though, while I am no master swordsman, I _can_ fight with both hands."

A smirk took over Rys's mouth, twisting it lasciviously. "I bet you can," she told him, laughing. "We had wondered where you went off to."

He motioned to the two dead men he now stood between. "More of Merlynn's men."

Her eyebrows went up appraisingly. "Good shots."

Grunting a response, he crouched to retrieve his arrows, wiping the blood from the heads before replacing them in his quiver.

"Three more runes," he said as he stood. "And all different from the others we have so far." He stepped over one of the bodies to join her. "Let's go back to the others and keep moving."

Later that day, they almost ran directly into a group of seven; were it not for Merrill's quick paralysis glyph, however, two of them would have vanished into the forest, presumably to report back to Merlynn. Neither would give in to questioning, and they ended up killing both. The day after that, twice they fought groups of four, bringing the total number of runes on their parchment to twenty-five, excluding the one Sebastian and Rys shared. The first side of Sebastian's parchment was filled with runes, now, and Rys was studying it as she sat next to him by their campfire that night. Rys had taken to spending more time with him than Fenris or Merrill, which Sebastian did not find unusual. He could tell she did not fully trust them, and they also did share a rune, with whatever else that meant. There were times when he almost got the feeling he knew what she was thinking or feeling, but he shook off those notions whenever the arose in his mind. There were times when he would awaken from a dream—a fire dream, as not a night had gone by since they had first found the _craennerta_ where he wasn't plagued by those nightmares—to find Rys had reached out to him in her sleep and was gripping his arm, or that she was awake before him and looking at him as if she expected him to wake. It was those times that they would lean in closer and speak in soft tones about their worries over the quest they were forced on. About what possible ends they might face if Merlynn reached the colossus before them, or if they reached it before her. Sebastian could not fathom what she wanted to control the colossus for, and tried to match Merlynn's promises of equality and what he knew of the colossus to no avail. Rys would brush against his arm or lightly touch his shoulder or knee when he spoke, and he took that as her seeking comfort; his rune would feel almost pleasant when she did such things, and he did not try and dissuade her from them. He found comfort in her closeness and her touch, and found himself not wanting to withdraw himself from her fingers and hands.

The scruff Rys had first met Sebastian with was back on his face, and he itched it periodically. It had been a long while since he travelled on the roads like they were, and he missed his daily shave. Rys scooted closer to him, her leg bumping against his, and broke his distracted attention.

"Brand," she said quietly, so the others wouldn't hear her. "I—I think I recognise some of these."

He stopped scratching at his whiskers and peered down at the parchment from over her arm. "Really? Which ones?" Not that it mattered which ones she pointed to; with how many times any of them had stared at the runes over the past few days, he knew them well enough to be able to see distinctions between any given two, but he had no idea what any of them actually meant.

"These," she replied, pointing to a set of five in turn. They were among the last few he had copied down.

"What do they mean?"

She shook her head. "That… that I don't know. But I'm certain I've seen these before."

"Where did you see them? Back in the warehouse?" A breeze passed over them as he asked the question, seeming to bring a coldness from the mountains still north of them that felt fitting for such a memory. He had his own foggy recollection of the warehouse, smatterings and impressions of being inside with Merlynn in the room with the rune one moment, and then something pulling from deep within him, like it was being drawn from his veins themselves. He remembered straining to lift his hand to trace a symbol he saw in the air—dark red like blood—and burning words escaping his throat and making it raw, and then they had woken up in the glen the next day. It was a memory that still unsettled him, though it somehow felt like it had sunk deep into his bones.

She shook her head and spoke, bringing him out of the dark of his memory and to the flickering light on her face. "No… In there, the only ones I saw was the one on the door and the one on the floor." He watched her fingers tighten almost imperceptible on the parchment. "No, I remember seeing these when I was a child."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Holy rusty writer, Batman! It's been forever and a day (or somewhat close) since I put the last chapter up. In honesty, this chapter has been gathering dust for at least six months and just needed editing and refining, but lots of real!life craziness prevented that. And original novel work made me set fanfiction aside for a little while.**

**But! I want to finish this as much as I hope people want to finish reading it. Chapter 10 is in the works (slowly but more or less surely), and hopefully it will get rolling along like it did in the beginning, and I won't have long hiatuses anymore.  
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**As always, thanks for reading and following, and let me know what you think!  
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**Also-I had to retype some of this directly from page to screen after discovering I didn't have the "latest" version on the computer, so I didn't reread most of what was typed. If you seen any continuity discrepancies or typo/grammatical errors, please let me know, and I will fix them as soon as I can!  
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